


Chronicles of a Dark Knight

by Batsymomma11



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types, Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Long-Term Relationship(s), Love/Hate, Mild Gore, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, References to Drugs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 22:10:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15694338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsymomma11/pseuds/Batsymomma11
Summary: Batman and Catwoman have called it quits for the last time. Or so they keep telling themselves. Selina did something unforgivable and she fears there is no way to overcome it. Bruce struggles with his own feelings and the right decision while dealing with a particularly grueling case. He doesn't need any distractions when there are lives on the line. But what's a man to do when he has not one, but two women in his life that make him question everything.But will Selina's true colors come out and everything be revealed? And will Diana finally get under the Dark Knight's skin enough to realize she's really the woman he should be chasing?**Work updates are postponed. Will continue when time and inspiration allows. Thanks!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Characters are not mine.  
> Story is mine.  
> I'm unsure of the ending on this one still.  
> Feel free to comment!  
> Enjoy!

**_Batman_ **

****

            Gotham’s lights look abnormally luminescent this evening and I watch the skim of smog curl around the fingers of the cathedral’s spires with ambivalence. This night is no different than any other. Not special in any case, not at least for the Batman, and yet, I find my eyes linger too long on the empty stain-glass windows. My chest twinges with an unfamiliar ache that I’ve not felt in many years, a calling perhaps, but it disappears at the first sound of fuzzy conversation finding its way to my ear via the cowl.

            I adjust on the ledge, leaning into the metal braces while I keep one hand wrapped about the three pronged grapple I intend to use. This won’t take long. I don’t imagine any criminal to have more patience than the Batman.

            _“Did you bring it?”_

_“Your payment?”_

Dent’s sarcasm is none too surprising considering the amateur he’s chosen to work with, but I find my muscles tensing when I hear the youth’s voice lift to a whine. Harvey doesn’t take well to disrespect. I blink down at my proposed entrance, watching as the cowl begins to calculate my fall and rate of impact, suggesting I have about a five to seven second lag before I can be inside. I lean further out onto the ledge, tempted to move now. But I don’t just want Dent. I want his silent partner. Whoever he is.

            _“Yes,”_ Dent hesitates overly long as if he’s showing the little perp what he’s getting, _“All your money. Counted and tag-less. No possible way the cops will be able to track you. Though, I’d be careful about spending it all at once. Now, did you bring my baby or not?”_

_“Yeah, yeah. I brought it. Over here.”_

_“This better not be too far Sands. I’ve got other deals to do this evening and I don’t have a lot of patience.”_

_“I can see that.”_

Orville Sands. Aka, the Sandman. Young, avid reader, over-developed ego and has a fascination with the psyche and its dream capabilities. Most especially those involving night terrors. I imagine he and Dr. Crane would get along nicely. I find my mouth twitching into smile of its own accord and shake my head at the darkness of my humor. Sometimes I cannot tell where Batman ends and I begin. Is there really much of a difference? After ten years, I think not. But then again, never a day goes by when the Batman is not surprised by something, myself included.

            _“Here she is. A beaut, eh? I triple wired and set-up a mother board the likes of which you could only dream of. Of course, comes with a top of the line firewall and a kill switch. In case you get caught. Which I don’t recommend considering this thing is highly illegal.”_

_“Thanks. I don’t plan on it. Turn it on.”_

_“Now?”_

_“I want a test run. It better be in working condition.”_

_“I’m not sure you understand how this thing works. Once you turn on the system, it starts learning right away. You don’t just turn it back off. You either kill it, or you let it go. It’s too complicated, you could fry the quad-core processing system I customized.”_

I hesitate at the ledge, the soft snitch of my rubber soles sucking on the rain-wet cement, wishing I had more time. But I don’t. Whoever Harvey is working with, isn’t going to show himself. At least not tonight. And I don’t want Dent getting away with that tech.

            Leaping off the edge, I fire the grapple gun into the air feeling the tension of the metal fibers instantly go taut as I swing in an arc over the nearly empty street. I land just as planned atop a pretty stain-glass sky light that shatters beneath my boots as I make contact showering a red and yellow Mary and Jesus over the top of my prey.

            I land in a roll, attempting to lessen the blow to my ankles and I end in a squat mere inches from Sands’ tennis shoes. He stares down at me, eyes as wide as dinner plates with beady black dots for centers and I kick a foot out to topple him. He goes down easily enough, collapsing in a heap in front of me.

            Standing, I only have time to register the clicking sound of a glock before the report sounds to my right. It slams into the Kevlar on my left shoulder and I jerk on impact, automatically lifting my arm and cowl at once to deflect a second or third fire. When it doesn’t come, I drop my arm only to find that Dent is making a run for it. With the MMI chip. I can’t let him leave with it.

            Growling, I swerve to grasp Sands’ wrist tugging the whelp up roughly as he snivels for me to let him go. I’ve heard it all before and then some. Sands is a twisted individual and it won’t be the first time I’ve locked him away. Though, soon enough, he’ll likely graduate from Blackgate and land himself in Arkham. Hopefully till after I’m dead.

            Lashing him hog style with the black zip ties hanging from my belt, I pat the kid on the shoulder and then exit the way I imagine Dent left. He and Batman have been playing this game a long time and old friends have a way of learning too much.

            In my case, it means I know where he will go and what he will do.

            Slamming into the double oak doors, I barrel down the hall, already reaching for my stun-gun and a handful of tear gas pellets. I need Dent conscious so I can question him. Rounding a second corner to the glowing red exit sign at the back of church I have a split second of warning before I am literally picked up and thrown through the children’s nursery wall.

            I crash into a crib, crushing hapless stuffed animals and toy trains in a heap of plaster and I gasp as pain assails my back and shoulders.

            Kidneys. Ribs. Nothing horrifically vital but most assuredly painful.

            “Batman. Long time no see. How’s the night life been treating you?”

            I blink up at the shadowy figure advancing on me and am struck with an intense wave of déjà vu. Bane? Here? I shake my head, working to clear the pain induced fogginess and rise from the debris that lies in shambles about me.

            “Let’s skip the talking Bane. I’ve got a long night ahead of me.”

            “Are you sure you want me to?” he moves close enough I can make out the eerie set of white and black paint he wears on his veined face and I feel something cold lodge into my belly as I try to imagine what he and Dent are doing together. Brain versus brawn with literally nothing in common save their penchant for committing crimes in Gotham. And I suppose a vast hatred for me. Batman.

            “That all you’re good for now? Talking?”

            Bane smiles widely, “Touchy tonight, eh? Did I hurt something when I threw you through that wall?”

            I roll my neck, “Just in a hurry.”

            Bane doesn’t wait for another round of verbal bantering. None too surprising considering the man never had much patience. Though, in light of my current predicament, I wish he had. My body begins screaming at me the moment I dance out of reach from one of his meaty swings.

            We play cat and mouse for another few seconds, me dodging and Bane lunkishly throwing his arms about before I end where I hoped I would. At his back. Exhaling sharply, I launch myself upwards, wrapping both arms in piggy back style about his throat and I lock my hands to keep from being thrown off.

            He laughs. In fact, he laughs so hard I find gooseflesh rising unwillingly beneath the too hot Kevlar and the sweat that coats my skin instantly cooling.

            Grasping my forearms, he tips his head back to peer at me with a cool expression, lips taut in a smile, “Did you think it would be that easy for you again? I’ve made adjustments Batman. It’s not back there anymore.”

            “I hadn’t thought so,” I lie easily, squeezing my arms tighter until Bane makes a satisfactory choking sound and he begins to more earnestly claw at my arms. My lips pinch tight when his hand swallows my left forearm and clamps down in a vicious bite and it is only by sheer self-preservation that I manage not to scream when he cracks something beneath the muscle before tossing me over his head in a wide arc. I land back down in front of him and feel the air suck from my chest instantly.

            Unable to breathe and quite literally seeing stars, I feebly scramble back from Bane just managing to get out of reach as he makes to pummel me with a double fisted hit. It lands just shy of my toes and rattles my teeth.

            “That all you got?” I wheeze, mentally picking through my options of escape. Plans have changed. I need to leave. Fighting Bane is suicide this night and any hope of catching Dent, his silent partner or apprehending the coveted MMI chip are gone. It’s survival now. Something both Batman and I are well acquainted with. Spending ten years as Batman will do that to a man.

            _“Bruce…I’m picking up distress in your vitals. Are you injured? Do you need a pickup?”_

It’s a wonder how I would ever survive without Alfred.

            But I don’t have time to answer him before Bane gets to me.

Bane advances on me again, his smile long gone and I manage to flatten enough he misses clocking me square in the head. Seeing his legs parted enough I can squeeze through, I use both feet to push on the opposing wall and manage to gain three feet. Smack dab under the guy.

            I don’t think about what I do next. But I know all the hours spent training, all the years put in the impossible, all the broken bones, cuts and pain I’ve experienced is the reason why I am able to act without thought. Doing something really rather ingenious if a little unorthodox.

            Staring up at the pant-clad crotch over my head, I slam my serrated arm brace into Bane’s jewels and pray they are still big enough after all of his juicing to do what they should. Debilitate him.

            He screams.

            Coppery smelling blood makes a steady stream onto my Kevlar covered stomach and I crawl backwards to avoid being crushed by his knees as he collapses forward moving to grip his manhood.

            I don’t stay to see how badly he is injured, or if he is following. In truth, I’m not sure if I’m not worse off than he. I limp out of the nursery, making my way down the long hallway that leads to the priest’s chambers nearer the front of the church. There is a window there. Another escape.

            I only stop at the door a moment, wondering briefly if any priest could have possibly been present here after hours and not heard the commotion just now but then I simply don’t care. I might believe in God and pray every now and then, but I’m no man of the cloth. Never have been, nor likely ever will be. Religion simply wouldn’t fit my lifestyle.

            Knocking over the bronze cross on the desk, I nearly collapse at the base of the window my breath is so short.

            _“Master Bruce, please answer me. I don’t wish to panic but since you have not answered and it has been a full three minutes since I hailed you. I can only assume the worst. Your vitals are dropping.”_

“I need…a pickup.”

            _“Thank God. Yes, Dick is in your area.”_

I blink slowly, seeing the shape of the window pane shift and then resettle as though it is a watery grave rather than glass. “Hurry.”

            _“I will. Hold tight.”_

“Not going anywhere…I’ll be on…the roof.”

            The line cuts off without a sound, but I trust that Alfred will contact Dick. Gripping the window’s ledge, I break out the glass and heft my weight slowly through the yawning darkness that awaits me. Sirens, smog, and a stray howling dog bluster around me and I strain to find my endpoint. Praying my grapple hits something up above in the gray dome of clouds, I shoot the gun with what little strength I have left and push the retract button when it goes taut. It tugs me hard by the shoulder upwards, fast sending me to the roof’s lip with ease.

            It’s the little things that make being a billionaire so damn worth it.

            Such as being able to save my own life.

            I flop onto the roof with absolutely no ceremony and I find I don’t even have the strength to roll back onto my back. Instead, I lie face down in the loose gravel of the roof where pigeons crap and cigarette butts litter the little pieces of quartz beneath me. I think I feel blood wetting the inside of my suit and that its running down my sides right about the time I hear the soft roar of an engine overhead. But everything goes black after that.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Richard_ **

****

            “Do you really think he’s going to listen to you Alfred? I don’t.”

            I watch as Alfred’s little white mustache contorts into a frown as he lifts a hand unconsciously to rest on Bruce’s forehead and I shake my head. “He’s stubborn.”

            “Impossibly so.”

            “ _He_ is awake.”

            I lurch out of my reclined position and feel the corners of my mouth tug into a familiar grin. One you might give to appease a parent or perhaps a nagging friend, and I shake my head at Bruce as Alfred steps back. “Welcome back.”

            “I don’t feel…very welcome.”

            I shrug, feeling my insides tighten as I attempt to keep our conversation light. Though from the pair of blue-gray eyes searching my face, I’m certain he already knows it isn’t very good. Not that time won’t heal everything. Time usually does. But he isn’t going to be out on any rooftops anytime soon. It will be weeks before he should be taking on anything more than his toothbrush.

            “A few broken ribs. Six to be exact. Fractured scapula. Bruised kidney….”

            Alfred leans over Bruce, “You’ve chipped two lumbar as well. I’ve put a call into the physician. It needs more advanced care than I can give you.”

            Bruce’s eyes narrow, the color obscuring as he inhales a soft breath and I don’t try to hide my sympathy. We both know I’d be lying. I’ve been in that same bed a time or two feeling about the range of emotions he is, and I certainly wouldn’t wish bed confinement on anybody. But for Bruce Wayne, the man who doesn’t stop, not for anything, it’s a prison sentence.

            “I’ll take care of things Bruce.”

            “I know.”

            I tug a hand through my hair, feeling the first tendrils of unease wash over me. “Do you want me to call Selena?”

            Those steely eyes flash to me, hold a second and then find themselves focused back on the ceiling of the Batcave. Unsurprisingly, I watch as his jaw flexes several times and he works to keep his voice even. “No. Don’t.”

            “You know she’ll be ticked if I didn’t.”

            “Selinaand I…there is nothing between us anymore. Never should have been.”

            I lift a brow, refusing to let Bruce win this one. We both know he still has feelings for her. Likely always will, no matter that they keep calling it quits. He tries to end things; she somehow worms her way back in. It’s been the same dance for the last six years.  

            “No, Dick. Let it go.”

            “Fine. It’s let go.”

            Bruce lifts his chin, “Really let go. Don’t push it. I can’t go there again and neither can she. It’s done,” he sighs, “I’m a big boy. I can handle this on my own.”

            “Master Bruce,” Alfred interjects smoothly, “Would you prefer if we let you sleep a bit before the physician arrives? I can give you a sedative that will pair nicely with your morphine.”

            Bruce purses his lips, “Am I already on morphine?”

            “No sir.”

            “Good. Let’s keep it that way.”

            Alfred shakes his head, “You’ll want it when Dr. Arendale needs to manipulate that back. And set your arm.”

            “Yeah, I thought you forgot to mention that. It feels pretty broken.”

             I grimace, “Bruce, broken is putting it lightly. It’s compound. The bone was sticking out of your skin like some puckered needle.”

            “Thanks for that visual Dick.”

            “You’re welcome. But seriously, I know you don’t like the drugs, but you need them.”

            Alfred nods solemnly and I can see Bruce weighing the options, studying both of us with a stubborn set to his jaw as he makes up his mind. Though he and I both know he’d rather push through the pain than suffer from the dreams that morphine gives him, we both know there is only so far willpower will stretch. Surgery isn’t one of them.

            “Fine.”

            “You will want the usual cocktail afterwards?”

            Bruce grinds his teeth, “Yes. The usual. Go ahead and call Gordon too. Let him know Dick will be taking care of things for the next few weeks,” he pauses, lips compressing into a white line and I realize that he is incredibly pale. Regardless of my strange inability to see Bruce as anything save bullet proof, he looks fragile tonight. Black hair standing in stark opposition to the near pasty white of his complexion that glistens under a thin sheen of perspiration. Even his lips seem to tremble in exhaust and pain. It makes my stomach hurt.

            “Damien?”

            “I’ve already called him. He’s coming home early.”

            “No,” Bruce shakes his head, wincing when he shifts his torso on the hospital grade mattress, “Make him stay. Damien needed some time off. I wanted him to be a kid…for once.”

            I nearly laugh at the description of Damien ever being called a child. The little cretin has been nothing but a pain in my rear since his appearance in Gotham last year. Apparently Bruce’s real child, the one he never knew existed from a strangely secret tryst with Talia. Daughter of the League of Assassins’ honcho. I still cringe to imagine how such a coupling occurred.

            “Right then. Of course. Anything else?”

            Bruce blinks several times, his eyes looking distant and weary, “Yes. Dick, I’ll need to debrief you once I’m awake again. It’s important.”

            “What’s it about?”

            Bruce levels me with a sharp look, his brows drawing low, “I can’t explain right now. But it’s not good.”

            “Well,” I smile stiffly, “That’s comforting then.”

            “Let’s leave him to rest Master Dick. Come now.”

            Bruce’s mouth twitches at the way Alfred herds me towards the stairs and I cast one last cautious look over my shoulder. But he isn’t looking at me. His eyes are on the suit wing on the far side of the cave, the muscles of his neck taut as though he’s working to swallow and I find my chest hollowing to the point of pain. Something went terribly wrong tonight. And whatever it is. None of us are going to like it.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Bruce_ **

****

            I wake abruptly.

            Painfully.

            Sitting up far too quickly, I let loose a half-snarled, half-choked sound of pain at the same time as swinging my legs to stand. My body responds like gelatin and I flop over on the mattress, sliding stupidly to the floor of my bedroom in a heap of naked limbs and agony. Searing agony. Why the hell did I move at all? What was I thinking?

            I was thinking that Killer Croc was looking pretty frightening with his new enamel upgrades and that I’d like to run really fast. At least, that’s what had been going through my mind in the last seconds before waking. Blinking into the darkness, I wonder if I’ve been asleep for as long as I feel. It seems days have passed. Weeks? I don’t really know. My mind simply feels heavy, like a dumb bell loaded with lead.

            From my position on the floor, I can see the crown molding on the ceiling, the pretty swoops of fleur-de-lis prints within ivory paint my mother was so fond of. Though not especially attached to the look of wealth, she did have her favorites and molding was one of them. Nearly every room in the Wayne manor has some form of it. Gaudy stuff, if I’m honest, but very sentimental. The double French doors that lead into my wash closet look a bit too far away, even if I do manage to crab walk my way to the toilet and I find myself wondering what harm urinating could possibly do to the Persian rug I’m lying on. I’ve never cared for the vermillion weave or the pattern.

            “Master Bruce?”

            I exhale a sigh of relief, reaching to grasp a hand on the closest post of my bed’s frame as I attempt to lever up to a seated position. As predicted, Alfred’s slightly balding head peeks through the jarred external door and a pair of bright blue eyes dart over to my position on the rug.

            “Master Bruce!”

            I force the irritation from my voice as he surges to me, his hands moving to grasp beneath my arms. “Not too fast, Alfred.”

            “Sorry Master Bruce. Is this better?” he asks softly. Far too softly. I feel like a china vase rather than the man who spends his nights thrashing Gotham’s finest lower crust.

            “Much. I need the restroom.”

            “Can you make it on your own?”

            I allow a half second of pause, wishing it could be different, but the few feet that separate me from the porcelain throne are too daunting even for my stubborn willpower. I’m far too weak to not need it. Loathe as I am to admit it. “No. I’ll need you till the door, I think.”

            Alfred obliges, silently giving me an arm as we shuffle painfully to the doorway. I don’t feel particularly bashful in front of my longtime family butler as he is far more a relation to me than any other person save my wards and son, but I still feel the impossible heat of chagrin touch my ears and cheeks when I wobble in front of the toilet.

            “I can…”

            “No,” I snap, struggling for patience, “I can take it from here. Just…please wait outside the door.”

            “Are you sure?”

            “I said I’m fine.”

            Alfred gives me an expression I’ve known since childhood. The ultimate weapon of silent condemnation and guilt-tripping. I’ve never known a better champion of it and I shake my head at him as he leaves me to it.

            Thankfully, I manage to take care of things without too much more of a struggle and I feel my strength returning considerably after I splash cold water over my face and neck. But when my face peers back at me from the reflective glass I find I can hardly look away. A stranger watches me with dark circles beneath his eyes, cheeks hollowed and not spared of dark whiskers. His brows are drawn low in a familiar scowl and though I recognize my facial bones and the ebony color of my hair, my eyes look near colorless they are so gray. Not a stitch of blue left in the waning light of a storming afternoon.

            I turn, allowing my wary study to finally stop in favor of assessing the time of day. The sun has fallen as a glossy silver orb beneath the thick cloud cover and though it is difficult to determine, I imagine the time of day to be near suppertime. On any other day, I might be sitting down to eat. Perhaps, watch some news. Catch up on my DVR, or read a book in the wingback chair I’ve pretty much claimed as my GPS location in the Wayne manor. But that was yesterday.

            Or…

            I blink into the shadows, finding Alfred dutifully perched on the edge of my unmade bed with his eyes cast to the floor.

            “Alfred, what day is it?”

            “It’s April 1st. Three days since your accident with Bane. Damien is due to come home tomorrow, as per his original itinerary.”

            I swallow stiffly, thinking of Damien returning to me in such a condition and hide my discomfort with a cough, “What did the doctor say?”

            Alfred sighs, watching me as though I might collapse at any moment. But I truly am feeling much stronger in the few moments I have been standing. Even if I will need to sit down in a handful of seconds, I’m pleased I’m not completely bed-ridden.

            “He said you will improve rapidly. The break in your forearm was stabilized with external pins. As you might have noticed when you first woke.” I hadn’t. Though, now that he mentions it, my forearm does feel rather heavy and very much sore. Good thing I didn’t try to catch my fall with my arms from the mattress.

            “Your ribs will need time too. He said to keep them wrapped to a tight comfort level. Whatever allows you to breathe and speak with less pain. The scapula is still fractured, though aside from wearing your sling, there is not much to do. It’s a small fracture, not enough for surgery. Thank goodness. But your chipped lumbar, those will need more TLC. He said to be very careful not to overdo it.”

            “How long Alfred?”

            He purses his lips, “At a minimum, five weeks.”

            “Doable.”

            Alfred raises a white brow, “I daresay, you are taking this all much better than I thought you would.”

            I shrug, then regret it instantly at the ensuing pain, “There is nothing I can do to change it. I got surprised by Bane and it cost me. I deserve whatever I got. But, that doesn’t mean I can’t work from the bed. I’m going to need my laptop up here as well as all the paperwork I was scrounging up on the MMI. Surveillance tapes too, if you can manage it.”

            “I’ve already brought it up. It’s beside the bed. Could I interest you in some painkillers and a light supper? You haven’t eaten in three days.”

            I feel my good hand drop to my flat stomach as if to confirm such a claim and I find I’m smiling easier than I thought I would. “Must explain why I feel so damn thin. Not my cup of tea. Would you bring me something just north of light? I could use it.”

            Alfred laughs, “Heavy on the protein?”

            “Of course, Alfred. That hasn’t changed in years.”

            “And your supplements too?”

            I nod, feeling my head begin to throb as I unconsciously begin leaning towards the doorframe. I’m going to need help back to my bed. And even if I really don’t want to ask for it, I’m going to also need something to wear and help getting it on. The idea of bending over feels about as exciting as stabbing myself in the eye.

            “Ready for the bed then?”

            I smile, “Yes and no. I’m going to need some clothes.”

            “Sweats work for you?”

            I agree with another pained nod, working to keep the twitch out of the corner of my mouth that so easily indicates my pain level. At present, it feels pretty ridiculously high. I don’t think I’ll mind scarfing down whatever narcotic Alfred brings me. I pray it’s at least a Vicodin. Anything less and I might cry.

            After an awkward scrabble to get me dressed in sweatpants and a cotton t-shirt, I’m peppered in sweat, exhausted and I feel ready to blackout from the pain. “Alfred?”

            He nods, his expression dipping into a soft parental worry, “Yes?”

            “Could you bring coffee too? Heavy on the cream?”

            “Of course.”

            I resist the urge to groan when we slide me up further into the pillows and begin propping me up like some infirm senior in a nursing home and find my eyes already feel heavy as I watch Alfred head to the doors to leave. I don’t last more than a handful of seconds after he closes the door.


	4. Chapter 4

_Three weeks later…_

 

**_Selina_ **

 

            Stubborn fool. Reckless creature of darkness.

            I watch as a black cowled monster makes his way up over the lip of a brick building which should have been condemned long ago and see him hesitate at the top as though the last few inches are a challenge. I scarcely resist the urge to snort in disdain. It should be a challenge.

            Damn him.

            Shaking my head, I follow silently, willing the sound of my feet into a hushed kiss along the cement and traditional tar roofs. It doesn’t take long before I’m near enough I can hear him running, bloody running, only a handful of feet in front of me and I watch as he shoots the grapple hook high to the far reaching building, sending the metal coil in an arc far enough I lose sight of its landing point.

            I wait until he propels to the opposite building then follow again.

            He’s not going anywhere tonight.

            Landing in a crouch atop the thinly graveled roof, I spin imperiously and come face to face with my target. Or rather, my watch this evening. Batman.

            Something between fluttering bits of passion and then sickly bits of dread spear my middle when his eyes find mine and I mask the sensation with a haughty lift of my chin and flick of my whip. It cracks proudly at his right, forcing him to take a step closer to me and I like it way too much.

            “Selena.”

            “Bruce,” I mimic his cool choice of introduction and I find it rather easy to return to a time when we were merely players in a silly game. He the cat and I his little mouse. When we played in Gotham as though it were a playground and I enjoyed taking the shiny things whilst he fought to keep me from doing so. Now, those days are long gone. Buried beneath a sea of memories, some pretty outrageously good and others horrifically bitter.

            “What are you doing here? Last I checked, Catwoman had moved on from Gotham. Found greener pastures as I remember it.”

            I raise a brow, drawing in the length of the leather whip so I can wrap it about my waist. The remainder falls heavily against my backside as my foe tail and I smile slowly, watching Batman’s jaw flex. Even though I can’t see his eyes behind the white lenses he hides behind, it’s fairly obvious he’s watching me. And…for all that is holy, I can’t seem to make myself stop enjoying it. Six years. Still not old. “I’m checking in. I heard you had a pretty ugly run-in with Bane.”

            “You heard wrong. I’m fine Selina.”

            “Are you?”

            He shakes his head, irritation cooling his lips into a thin angry line, “Go home. I don’t need a babysitter. I’m fine.”

            “That’s not what I’ve heard. I hear you shouldn’t even be thinking of coming out on patrol this early, you should have waited another two weeks at the very least.”

            Batman moves so quickly, in the way that he always does, that I hardly see the movement before he has me pinned against the steaming brick chimney at my back. The brick feels like rough ice and I clench my jaw when I feel his breath dance over my open neckline. Admittedly, I’ve altered the cat suit a bit. Not that I wanted to get noticed or anything. But it certainly is a bit more eye catching. And I’m all about that. “Don’t play games with me Selina. I didn’t like it then. I don’t like it now.”

            “I beg to differ. If memory serves,” I lean in until I can brush my nose along his cheek. It feels smooth as hot melted butter. He must have just shaved before coming out. “You like a few games every now and then.”

            Growling, he shoves back from me and turns in a swirl of inky cape and pointed ears. A ferocious looking creature that I have no business trying to tempt into a fight, but I find that is exactly what I am doing.

            “Why do you insist upon doing this?”

            I shrug my shoulders, “Doing what? Looking out for you?” I roll my eyes when he casts a glance over his shoulder and I can read the tension in his mouth and shoulders as easily as a map shows its topography. “We might not be seeing each other anymore Bruce, but I can still care about you, can’t I?”

            He laughs, but the sound is dark with bled dry emotion, “Honestly, no. You can’t. You can’t have it both ways. Either you want this?” he drags a hand over his front, white teeth glinting in a feral snarl, “Or none at all! You can’t show up, try to baby or boss, or whatever the hell you are trying to do and expect me to listen. Just go home. Leave me be. I promise not to do anything foolish if you promise not to come prowling around like some besotted teenager after me.”

            I flinch at his harsh words and nod slowly, licking my lips as if to wash away the bad taste, “Maybe I deserved that, but you have your family to thank for my concern. Dick called me. He was worried. Said you shouldn’t be out here and I was honestly doing _him_ a favor. Not you.”

            Batman jerks, his hands fisting, “I’ll deal with him later. Don’t speak to him again.”

            “Don’t speak to him? What is he, twelve?”

            “No, he’s a man. And you aren’t exactly the nicest kitten on the block. So don’t go there. Leave him be. You’ve had your fill of Waynes.”

            I feel my mouth drop open at his easy insinuation and before I can school my reaction I find my body lurching forward to retaliate. Some things never change. Some do. This isn’t one of them.

            I connect with Batman easily enough, startling him as he falls backward and lands on his rear, though to his credit, not full on his back and I manage to end straddling his hips, one hand wedged about his throat. I don’t think about the groan that breaks the seam of his lips when I force him onto his back nor do I really care when he starts to squirm under my weight, and I dig my pointed claws into the Kevlar about his neck until it pierces the fabric.

            “At the top of your game are you?” I hiss, millimeters from his lips.

            He jerks beneath me, trying to buck me off, but only manages to draw a sound of pain from his lips. I laugh, “Really Bruce? You’re fine?”

            “Get off.”

            “No. Not until you are honest with me. Stop hiding behind this façade of anger. I know you’re ticked at me still, but that doesn’t mean you can be stupid.”

            “Selena,” he is panting now, color fading to a pitiful white and I very nearly give into the soft pleading in his tone. “I don’t want to fight you.”

            “You’ll have to if you are going to patrol tonight. At least if you are going to do it without me.”

            “What?”

            I squeeze harder, both with my knees about his ribs and my fingers on his neck. He yelps, doing something I expected a lot sooner and throws a solid punch straight into my chest. It knocks me clean off of him in an untidy heap of black leather and claws and I spring back up easily enough, offering him a coy smile as he struggles to a stand.

            “You either let me come along as your…insurance policy. Or you don’t go at all. And don’t think I won’t stop you. You’re easy tonight, honey. I could play with you till dawn and not break a sweat.”

            He grimaces, pressing a hand to the offended ribs as he eyes me cautiously, “Maybe so, but you wouldn’t last one minute in a real fight with me and we both know it. You will always be my greatest weakness, no matter how much we both try to deny it. I can’t seem to shut you away where you belong.”

            That hurts. Just a bit. “Are you in or are you going to be playing?”

            He shakes his head, “I never did like your choice of words.”

            “Hah, you loved them. Still do. Every time I say something I probably shouldn’t I can see your mouth twitch. You like my dark side.”

            Batman rolls his neck, offering me a surprisingly soft half smile, “Maybe.”

            “So?”

            He casts a look to the far side of the roof, allowing silence to fall heavily between us until I can hardly stand it, then finally nods. “Fine. Let’s go. Try to keep up, kitty cat.”

            “Ooo,” I grin, though it doesn’t quite reach my eyes, “I like a challenge.”

            It doesn’t take long to reach his destination and though I follow with a good distance between us, I can sense his hesitation at my presence. We glide through the windy strains of late winter air, swishing across the naked bones of trees in Gotham’s central park then beyond to the thickly populated skyscraper avenues. But we don’t stop. No, we keep going, rushing over the city lights and the pavement jungle below and I find the peace of keeping in stride with Batman comforting. A lost art, maybe.

            After nearly an hour, I sense a slowing of pace, a lull to his movements and I realize we’ve run out of city. The edge of the water comes rushing into view and it is only the Atlantic and her spidering white lips that grin at us in a hazy spray of moonlight.

            “Stopping already? I thought you said you were fine.”

            Batman lands atop the bleached city dock in a low crouch, automatically re-clipping his grapple as he does so and I follow suit, wrapping my whip prettily about the narrow of my waist.

            “Yes. I’m stopping. I never said I was doing anything else tonight.”

            “Ah,” I smirk, eyeing the spraying line of ocean with a wary eye, “So you came out tonight for some fresh air? A stretch in your Kevlar? Did you miss it that bad Bruce?”

            His mouth tips in a more familiar grin and I find it easy as breathing to smile back at him. “Yes, Selina. You’ve pegged me once again. That’s exactly what tonight was.”

            “And you aren’t being sarcastic at all…”

            Another winning smile. I’m getting good at this. Then again, the chilly air and exercise have likely done some of that work for me.

            “Maybe a bit.”

            “Maybe?” I offer lightly, liking the easiness of his posture and the swift breeze that has begun lifting off of Gotham Bay in swarthy brine tufts. It smells refreshing after a day spent in the thrifty recesses of my apartment where smog and city exhaust sneak through my ill-fitting windows.

            “Why did you come Selina?”

            I tip my head, eyeing the line of his jaw as we walk casually to the end of the docks. They sway slightly under our feet and I am struck with a silly urge to laugh as I picture how ridiculous we must look in our gear at three a.m., strolling along the docks.

            “Because I wanted to.”

            “That’s a non-answer.”

            I smile, flicking my whip when we stop just shy of the frothing water. “I disagree. But I know what you’re asking and to be honest, I’d rather not answer tonight. I’d rather talk about this wonderful weather. Feels unseasonably warm.”

            “The weather? Really?”

            “Yes,” I answer honestly, hooking my arm in his elbow as if it is the most natural thing in the world. If we’d both been born in a different time with slightly different circumstances, I suppose it might have been. “It’s fabulous. And by the way, you look like you’ve lost weight. Can’t say I’m a fan.”

            Batman shakes his head, but I can see the little smile curling his lips and it’s genuine. “I have.”

            “Alfred still force feeding you?”

            He laughs, “Alfred is still Alfred.”

            “And the kid?”

            He sighs, “You mean, my kid? His name is Damien.”

            “Right. That one. The one you had without anybody ever knowing it, yourself included.”

            “You know he happened before you and sort of without my consent, right?”

            It’s my turn to laugh, “Yes, I know. Honestly though, how is he?”

            Batman shrugs, pursing his lips before he answers me but I can feel the tension rush up from elbow to spine in his posture, “Damien is doing well considering. It’s been a year, but he’s gotten a lot better with people in general. Hell…life. He’s going to school. Making friends. I even sent him off to camp.”

            “What sort of camp?”

            He smiles, “Space camp.”

            “Likes the stars…little man after my own heart,” I blink up at the velvet cover above us and feel the smallest twinge of regret that even this close to the water, the city lights still blur out the stars. Kansas feels a long way away from Gotham this night and I’m not afraid to admit I’m a bit homesick.

            “Yes. He does. And this feels very odd.”

            I roll my eyes, “It doesn’t have to. Are we not friends after six years?”

            “Yes. We’re friends. Very good friends.”

            We both turn, inches separating us and I’m reminded that not that long ago I would have closed this little gap and pressed my lips to his. Maybe doffed the piece of leather that adorns my head and shields my eyes from view in favor of transparency. In truth, we’ve never really been Batman and Catwoman. We’ve always been able to see something beyond that. Selina and Bruce. Just a man and a woman, nothing more and nothing less.

            “It’s good to see you. Even if you are more surly than ever.”

            His lips compress into a thin line, one hand moving to brush the line of my cheek in a heart stopping gesture, “And you are lovelier than ever. But I think we’re playing with fire. We need to be careful.”

            “Careful? Since when have I been known for caution?”

            “Selina…I’m serious. We can’t do this. We’ve proven time and time again, we cannot be simple friends. And after our last,” he hesitates, a sigh breathing warmly over my cheeks, “Our last call-it-quits, I have to admit I haven’t recovered. You left me.”

            “I remember.” The air feels suddenly far too warm and each breath a struggle. I can’t ever forget that particular night. And yet, I wish I could. I know why I told Bruce we couldn’t see each other anymore…but those reasons feel very small when it is just us like this.

            “And now, that dictates how anything between us goes in the future. To be honest, I didn’t want to see you again. Ever.”

            “I know,” I give him my back, turning my gaze to the skyline, “I’m here merely to help. As your friend. The really good one you said I was.”

            Batman’s chuckle is ominous in reply and I don’t expect any different from him, “Yes, I did say that. So how do you think you can help me?”

            “I know you are looking for the MMI.”

            I swear I feel him stiffen but I don’t turn my back to see, I can hear it plain enough in his voice and I answer his next question without bothering to wait. “Dick. He told me about that too. Been beating on every tree that might drop some sort of information, but no dice.”

            “No,” he moves beside me, silent as a wraith, “Nothing. The MMI chip appears to have gone deep underground same as Dent. I have no leads. No direction. Just a missing technological war horse and a bunch of broken bones that still have no explanation.”       

            “Save a shared hatred of you. I imagine that Bane was hired by Dent. Or his silent partner.”

            Batman adjusts the gauntlets on his forearm, his chin dipping, “True enough. Can’t say I’m not surprised. But something feels wrong. Off…There is more. Something far bigger than I can see yet.”

            I smile slinging an arm over the railing, “It’s driving you mad.”

            “It always does. I both hate and love a mystery.”

            “Ah, explains how you feel about me then.”

            The corner of his mouth tips in a boyish grin and I cannot help but to respond in kind. We both fall silent for several minutes, allowing the sound of oceanic waves and humming ambulance warbles to lull us until I find I’m nearly yawning and the night is fast dwindling.

            “I’ll keep an ear to the ground Bruce. And of course, anything I hear or see, I’ll forward onto you. Or Dick.”

            “Me.”

            I lift a brow, “If you’re worried I’ll make a move, I’m not the cougar type. Just your average house kitty.”

            He chuckles, “You could never be classified as a house kitty.”

            “I promise to contact you first.”

            Batman shifts his weight, his boots scraping along the bleached wood, “Do me one better and work with me on the case. I could use your help.”

            “Dear Lord, did you just ask for my help?”

            He snorts, “No. I said I could use it. But I’m not above asking for it.”

            “Why?”

            “We work well together. You know Gotham nearly as well as I do. And I think I’m going to need someone with your expertise to get the MMI chip back.”

            I smile, slow and languid, “My expertise. I like the sound of that. Sounds better than stealing.”

            “You in?”

            “No funny business?”

            He stares at me.

            I laugh, albeit nervously, though I doubt Batman can tell. Rather, I pray he can’t. He can’t know how easy it would be for me to fall right back into the spot I was only six months ago. Or that I wish I could. If I wasn’t such an emotional nest of snakes…I blank out the thought and simply shake my head in assent. I’d be a fool not to accept. The last six months have been struggle enough without him as it is. To deny myself this opportunity, even if it is to merely work alongside him, would be to deny I need air.

            I smile at his tight lipped expression and answer him audibly, “Of course, Bruce. I’ll do it.”

“Then, I’ll you see you tomorrow night. My place.”

I offer him a tentative nod, regardless of the sudden hollowing in my belly and I am already turning to give my back once more, “I’ll be there, but I’m beat. And I imagine you aren’t too far off from there either.”

            “I already called the car for pickup.”

            “Ah, wish I had that perk. Thankfully, I think a little more exercise will do me good tonight.”

            He tips his head at me, seeing likely far too much, “A lot on your mind?”

            “Always is, Bruce. Have a good night. Go home and sleep…and, I’m sorry about your ribs. Hope I didn’t hurt you too badly.”

            “I’ll live.”

            I nod at him, allow a moment’s too long of hesitation as I study the sleek lines of his suit, wondering if his eyes are as blue as the last time I saw them, then I leave. I turn my back on the Batman and force myself to be content with what it will be like to work as peers and nothing more. Perhaps I will find that working as teammates is far better than anything else? The idea is nearly as laughable as my feigned ignorance of the tremor in my hands or the rattle of my heartbeat in tandem to the vibrant city before me. I’ll always want more. Far more.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Bruce_ **

****

            “Yes I know, Lucius. I’ve already spoken to the other chairmen. It’s been approved.”

            He nods at me as though I’m speaking in another language and I work to keep my voice level and my eyes from narrowing. Though Lucius Fox has been one of my most trusted employees and the CFO of Wayne Industries, there are occasional moments where we don’t see eye to eye.

            “Mr. Wayne, I’ve gone over all of the specs and as far as I’m concerned, I think this thing is a hazard.”

            I nod slowly, “It can be. The Mother May I chip is only theoretical right now though, and with proper study and funding, it could be a breakthrough in hacking foreign terrorist organizations.”

            “Or our own.”

            I couldn’t agree more. Which is the biggest reason I’ve chosen to keep everyone save a handful of people in the dark on my real reasons for allotting funds to this particular project. I may not be able to get my hands on the original tech, the one that is still missing, but I can build something to stop it. Not really an MMI chip…not exactly. More like the antidote to the MMI chip.

            “There is a lot of time between then and now Lucius. We can feel our way through this with caution. And if it appears that the tech is too dangerous, even for Wayne Tech, we can either pull the plug, or go a new route altogether.”

            “A new route?” Lucius’s hands nervously dip to his pockets and I watch his assertive brown gaze hold on my own for several seconds before I answer.

            “Yes. A route that might serve a counter agent to anything that might come into the market in similar fashion.”

            Two black brows rise high on his forehead as he shakes his head, “A counter agent. Not an attack, but a defense…”

            “Yes.”

            “I see.”

            I feel my mouth curving into a smile regardless of the stiffness and formality of our conversation and I recognize the glint of understanding flickering in Lucius’ gaze. He knows this project is not simply for Wayne. It is something for Gotham by request of its friendly dark knight. Although friendly is a debatable term.

“Do you really?”

            This time I am rewarded with a genuine smile and I feel the tension slip from my frame.

            “Yes Mr. Wayne. I trust you have it all in hand. We’ll be in touch then.”

            I nod, “Of course. Feel free to shoot any further questions my way when you have them. Which, as you begin looking over the specs and new hires, I’m sure you will. Send them to my private email though.”

            “You got it. Good afternoon then.”

            I smile, “Yes, good afternoon.”

            When my office doors slide closed on the metal wrack enclosing me within barn washed colors and neutral artwork, I feel my eyes flicker to the backdrop of Gotham normally reserved for my back. She looks formidably silent this late afternoon. Her sky scrapers especially tall and smoggy skirts most especially brown and I wrinkle my nose in distaste when I try to imagine how often the citizens of such a city go about their business with no idea how much filth they are breathing. Myself included.

            A tiny buzzing alarm breaks my silent study and I find I have to jerk my focus back to the remainder of my work day and to the hailing call my secretary is using. I punch the response code into the speaker then offer a polite yet bland request. “Yes, Shirley?”

            “Damien is here to see you, sir.”

            “Send him in.”

            There is no need for me to explain something that has silently become common knowledge throughout Wayne Corp, but I find my shoulders and neck instantly tighten in strain when a boy of thirteen strides casually beside Shirley into my office. Damien. My son.

            Though I often still find myself shocked at the revelation I have been a father for over a decade and most of that time I had no knowledge of such, I believe it his likeness to me that is most shocking. Inky hair, set in a disorderly array of spiking edges with tawny skin and a long pair of legs. Even at this age, I can see he will have an affinity for fitness the way I did. The way I do. But it is his eyes that I think most disturb me. We might have come a long way in reconciliation, but Damien’s eyes are most assuredly his mother’s. Lovely, brilliant, and cunning ivy leaves.

            “Damien, shouldn’t you be in school?”

            He tosses a smug grin in my direction, dropping a black book bag on the closest sofa before eating the space between me and my desk, “Shouldn’t you be at home right about now?”

            “Home?” I ask softly, wondering if I will ever get used to his sharp tongued way of speaking with me or if there is even any point in reprimanding him. I’m hardly the man to demand it and yet, am I not feeding the kid? Watching over him? Training him?

            “Yeah, Alfred said you had a meeting at five. It’s five thirty.”        

            I glance down at my desk, shuffle the loose leaf files out of the way of the large print calendar I keep at the center and scowl at the information hastily scrawled for today. “Yes. I should be at home.”

            “With Selina?”

            I blink up at Damien, hearing a strange irritation in his tone, “Yes. Is that a problem for you?”

            “No. Just thought you two were done.”

            “We are. She’s working with me on a case.”

            “Ah, the one you said I couldn’t be on.”

            I offer a commiserating smile, gathering the few binders in my chair along with the loose pages, “Yes, well someone told me they had a very large eighth grade project to accomplish and that it counted as half their grade. Weren’t your words, ‘If I don’t do well, I won’t not go on to high school’?”

            He purses his lips, “Maybe.”

            “And there’s the rub. I would have you beside me if I could. But you have bigger fish to fry…at least for a thirteen-year-old.”

            “I doubt that very much, but I understand.”

            I shake my head at him, moving across the expanse of my office to scrub a hand over his hair roughly. Though I grew up in such a different environment, I understand well enough the awkwardness that compassion, genuine emotion, or even shows of affection bring to him. My son has only just been brought into the world of the living in the last year and he is still learning. At least that’s what I keep telling myself to produce patience.

            “Let’s get home, Damien.”

            “I was thinking I’d stay here with you a while…”

            I raise a brow, “I have to be home. I’m late.”

            “Yeah, but…”

            “But what?”

            “I needed to talk to you.”

            I feel something in my gut twist uncharacteristically before it falls to my toes and I find my rear bumping into the edge of my desk before I rest heavily onto it. “Go ahead son.”

            He blinks up at me, eyes looking so very strange and distant in their verdant hues and I wish more than anything to wipe the uncertainty from his brow. To draw him into my arms and remind him that he shares half of his DNA with me too. Even if I’ve not been a good father to him thus far. It was never done to him by any purposeful intent.

            “I…I’ve been thinking that I’d like to do something outside of school.”

            “Like a sport? Hobby?”

            Damien nods at me, eyes holding on the row of sports trophies at my back, “Yeah. A sport. I’d like to try football I think. Tryouts are in a few weeks and the coach mentioned I might be a good fit.”

            “I think that’s a great idea.”

            He stares at me a moment, lips shifting into a familiar frown, “You do?”

            “Yes, of course. Extracurricular activities are important to keep outside of your studies. Keeps you fresh and motivated. Not to mention, sports are good for camaraderie and trust building. Something you need.”

            “But I thought you said I needed to focus on keeping my grades up and staying out of trouble.”

            I smile at his somehow vulnerable statement. He might be able to kill a man with his bare hands but he is still just a boy. A boy in desperate need of his father’s approval and I have no problem giving it to him. I am proud and impressed by his efforts. “And you’ve done that. I think football is a great reward for all of your work. If anything it will only supplement your…other activities.”

            Damien’s eyes widen, the color brightening to olive and he allows me a rare grin. It makes my chest hurt. “I can still be Robin?”

            I nod, wrapping an arm around his shoulders even though I know he will stiffen and push me back, “Yes, you may. I think you’ve proven you can handle it.”

            “Thanks…Father.”

            I nod again at him, drawing away before he can push me and quickly turn to hide the fire stinging my eyes. “Great. Sounds like a plan. Should we grab some dinner on the way home? I think I might need something to apologize to Ms. Kyle for my tardiness.”

            “I already told Alfred to let her know you were running late when I came in.”

            “You are definitely a Wayne.”

            He smiles again at me and I find myself wondering if it will be a new normal for us. I pray it is.

 

***

 

            I watch Selina wipe the corners of her mouth with the cotton napkin from her lap before she takes a slow sip of her red wine and I swear every corner of _my_ mouth has gone dry. Seeing her in her Catwoman gear, that had been a startling enough shock to my system after the six-month hiatus we’d been going on, but tonight…feels like something else entirely.

            She’s wearing a surprisingly sedate black dress, though it has a shiny silver zipper which cuts across the middle of her waist and then ends at the neckline in a pretty triangle shape. It’s still fairly simple though, and understated for Selena; someone who can’t help but to draw attention without even trying. Tonight feels no different and I find myself fidgeting with my own napkin when Damien leaves to work on his homework and Alfred goes rather suspiciously missing.

            “Busy day at the office, Bruce? You’re very quiet.”

            I purse my lips, “I’ve always been quiet Selena.”

            “Yes, but not this quiet. I worry about you. Are you feeling any better?”

            “Much. Thank you.”

            Her lips spread wide into a soft smile, “Only a few more days until you’re released for duty, right?”

            “Three. But who’s counting?”

            Selina snorts, “Love your humor. Dry as a desert and yet so very delicious.”

            I think I’ve reached a whole new level in torture. This. This right here is. Forcing my eyes away from the hazel of hers, I try to think of the reason I had her come to the manor tonight in the first place and come up short. In fact, I think anything save my major motor functions feels dreadfully far away.

            “Any news on the East side?”

            “No,” she shakes her head, leaning heavily onto the table top as though she is too tired to remain straight, “Silent as the grave. No Harvey. No MMI.”

            “I’m beginning to think I might need to involve the Justice League.”

            Selina blinks at me, “And face Superman’s prying eyes? I thought you hated their involvement.”

            “I do. Most of the time. But if the Mother May I chip is what I think it is, then I might not have a choice. It could be disastrous. Most especially since I don’t know who Dent’s partner is. Or where the chip went.”

            “Like Metropolis…”

            I can feel a headache blossoming at the base of my skull and I press my fingers against my temples to staunch it, “Suicidal considering the alien who would respond to such threats, but yes. I don’t want to come out looking the fool. I’d rather come out at the head.”

            “So what’s your timeline?”

            “A week. If nothing bites, then I’ll call him.”

            Selena’s pointer finger begins to draw a slow ‘s’ shape on the wood and I find my mouth twitching in response, “Can you ever be serious?”

            She looks up at me with wide innocent eyes, skin looking pale as the cabinets at her back and I am suddenly struck with the urge to ask when she last slept. I didn’t notice at the start, but now that she sits so close to me, I can see her eyes are shadowed with dark little half-moons beneath her mossy irises. “When I want to be.”

            I lean closer daring to share the little patch of table I know should be off-limits between us until my elbow is brushing hers. Predictably, she doesn’t move away. “Then be serious now. Why aren’t you sleeping?”

            “I have bad dreams, Bruce. Is that a crime?”

            “No.”

            “Then why are you asking?”

            I shift uncomfortably in my seat, feeling my sits bones press into the wood, “I care.”

            Her mouth dips into a pretty smirk and I wait until she draws that arm away and our contact is broken before breathing again.

            “Any more wine in this place?”

            “Wine?” I ask it stupidly, my stomach floundering like a silly toad in a kiddy pool. I know exactly where this is going. Where I might wish it to go, if six months ago Selina hadn’t told me I was the last person she should be with. She’d stood in this same room, only her feet had been planted by the stove, as though she was prepping for war and she’d screamed that I was a bad choice. I made her life complicated. I not only confused things, but that I was an emotional black hole. I took too much of her and never gave enough back. I…

            “Bruce?”

            I blink up at her, feeling something akin to a blush rushing into my cheeks as I realize the room has gone stale with silence. For how long? I’m not certain.

            “Sorry, I was running through my wine inventory. Got stuck on the Moscato list. I know those are your favorites.”

            Silvery green eyes flash to meet mine and I know she can hear the lie in my voice. But I’m also well aware she won’t venture here with me. Not tonight. She knows better. I’ve had a long enough day, without my feelings for Selina playing the trump card tonight over any sort of practicality. Emotions dictate I do things that aren’t smart, hell, they aren’t even rational. And yet…if I let my emotions rule me I would have become a homicidal bat killer ages ago, rather than a slightly twisted vigilante that goes boo in the night. “I like the pink ones best.”

            “I remember. But it’s late isn’t it?”

            “Is it?” she cocks her head, brushing those long elegant fingers along the grain of the wood on my dining room table as though its skin rather than tree she’s touching. It makes me itch to stop them.

            “Perhaps I should be more plain. I’m tired. I think I’m going to head to bed.”

            This time she smiles, mischief glinting in her hazel eyes, “Indeed. Being plain is far better suited to us. Don’t you think?”

            “Most of the time,” I mumble my answer, rising to stand even though Selina seems content to simply sit at my table.

            She looks up at me, eyes warming to pewter dusted in leafy hues, “I suppose I should be going.”

            “Probably.”

            “Eager to make me leave?”

            “No…” I stiffen when her hand finds mine and she uses it to rise from the table. Even this platonic little touch makes my heart skid about as though I’m a teenage boy with raging hormones again. All thought scatters like beads lost from a broken necklace and the image of sweet ivory pearls breaking apart along wet asphalt jars me just enough to stop my thoughts from escalating too far. Just as the pearls from my memories come to haunt me once again, so does their melancholy and I am glad for it now.

            Swallowing, I drop Selena’s hand, offer her a curt nod and then leave her standing in the kitchen by my table. She doesn’t ask me to stop and I don’t say goodbye. I think it’s pretty obvious I do want her gone and she knows it. I’ve reached my fill of self-control and I daresay, we both can feel the tingle of a noose nearly cinched when it’s brushing the soft skin of a neck so prepped for it. And I don’t plan on hanging tonight.  

            Skirting the edge of the stairs, I discard any thoughts of going to sleep and find my feet carrying me easily enough to the study where I keep the liquor. A suitable end to this day. I’m thinking a spot of brandy will do me nicely. I enter the study with the ease of a man well versed in his home and I don’t stop until I reach the small silver tray by the glowing hearth. Alfred must have known I would need this tonight. The man has an uncanny ability to know things.

            I pour myself two fingers, settle into my favorite chair, then prop both feet up on the edge of the marble ribbed fireplace. Its fingers of tangerine warm me instantly as the brandy works on my insides and I find the nagging pain I was feeling in my forearm and back are beginning to lessen as the alcohol does its work. In fact, I’m feeling downright languid by the time Alfred meanders into the room and gives me a single white raised brow of question.

            “Not going to sleep upstairs then?”

            I purse my lips, not caring that my tie hangs loosely about my neck and that I left my shoes over by the drink stand as empty husks of Barry Street responsibilities. “I’ll go. In a minute.”

            “Do you need help sir?”

            I laugh a little, rising from my heat induced stupor to a full sit, tempted to rub the grit from my eyes, “Did Selina leave alright?”

            “She did. Some two hours ago.”

            I feel my brows rise in surprise and I shake my head, “Time flies when you’re having fun.”

            “Indeed, sir. Master Damien is already asleep.”

            “Good,” I mumble, forcing my feet out in front of me as I attempt to stand. My legs feel like lead and worse still my back an anvil atop them. I swear I hear my bones groan in protest when I finally do straighten to my full height and I blink past the predictable haze of sleepiness to see Alfred more clearly as he steps beside the fire.

            “Perhaps, just a little company on your walk upstairs, Master Bruce?”

            “Perhaps.”

            He silently follows me up the stairs, only the whisper of socks and shiny dress shoes hushing along the carpet. I stall at the top, eyeing the perfectly square pattern of windows on the landing and I feel my mind drift easily to the slightly ajar door frame just down the hall to Damien. There is no need to explain my little detour, nor that I won’t need Alfred’s assistance any longer, I simply stalk the short distance to my son’s door.

            I can hear his little snores of sleep before I see his figure in the center of his too large bed and it causes the most comforting of twinges in my chest. The sort of twinge that only a father would be allowed to have. Something I’ve grown rather fond of and would protect most ardently from this past year. I stretch out onto my toes, squinting into the darkness of his room and I can see the large glossy posters of Assassin’s Creed, Halo and my personal favorite, Pink Floyd.

            Shoes, books, a slightly questionable fish tank and a wide assortment of comic books litter the far wall and I feel that same swell of pride filter through my chest until it becomes nearly unbearable. The change in Damien over the last year, is heart stopping.

            When he first came to me, he was hardly even a child. Recklessly angry, violent and sullen. He acted as though he were an old man trapped within the confines of a pubescent teen. But after this last year, through many trials and tribulations, it seems Damien has found himself. If the teenage looking environment I see surrounding his snoring form have anything to say on the matter.

            Smiling, I slip away unnoticed and find my own bedroom two doors down. My room feels pitiably empty in comparison to the vibrancy of my son’s and I stare mildly at my bed, feeling my previous aches tenfold. Though I will be released for full duty in only three days, I feel as though every visit outside in the midnight recesses of Gotham, every time I pushed through the fire to get a bit further these last weeks, has cost me.

            By the time I’ve reached the lip of my turned down mattress, I’ve already stripped to my skivvies and the press of the chilly air in my room brazes my skin with goose bumps. I fall, more than climb into bed and I jerk the heavy comforter up under my arms, feeling my gaze fix onto the barely there ceiling.

            I glance at the curtained windows to my left and find myself wondering how many hours there are until sunrise. I think maybe three. Four if I’m lucky. I have a conference call meeting with Luthor Corp first thing in the morning I can’t miss. The vague idea of setting my alarm flits to the surface of my mind but then it’s falling away beneath a wave of onyx sleep. I don’t bother to stop it. I deserve a little bit of sleep. Come the morning, I might be in for more than a little unpleasantness if Luthor has anything to say on the matter.


	6. Chapter 6

**_Alfred_ **

****

            “Master Bruce, you are due in five minutes.”

            “I know.”

            “Shall I ring and tell them you are going to be late?”

            A pair of vibrant blue eyes gives me a glaring no and I shake my head in dismissal, reaching for the extension on his nightstand. It should patch me through to Shirley who can stall the conference call. “Shirley?”

            She answers with her usual lackluster voice and I smile grimly though she clearly can’t see me. “Yes?”

            “It’s Mr. Pennyworth. I’m afraid Mr. Wayne will be running a few minutes late. Could you stall the meeting?”

            “I will do my best, but it won’t be easy. Mr. Luthor came early and in person.”

            I blink at the receiver in my hand, feeling my stomach pit uncomfortably as Bruce’s eyes flit back over to me and he spits a mouthful of toothpaste into the sink. “In person you say?”

            “Yes. There’s a bunch of reporters here too. Said they were granted permission for an interview. I have security keeping them in the lobby. So I wouldn’t come that way.”

            “Right. Thank you Shirley. We’ll be there posthaste.”

            “I’m sure you will.”

            She sounds about as thrilled as I do. Resting the phone back into its silver cradle I stand as a silent sentinel as Bruce kicks his wrinkled dress shirt on the floor from the day previous and hunts for a fresher one. I don’t bother to explain I’ve already laid one out, he can see clearly enough.

            Bruce Wayne is a man who prefers simplicity over correctness and when I see him settle on a simple blue down, skipping the tie and blazer, I force my mouth to stay closed and my eyes to remain on the floor. Though, when he turns to face me, it’s a chore. Ten years of prowling the streets of Gotham have not been kind to his purely human body. It is in these rare minutes of vulnerability between he and I, that it becomes abundantly clear how very human and fragile he truly is. Just a man running about in a Kevlar suit to fight criminals who are twice as strong and twice as cruel. His body is littered with scars, some of which are as recent as this past year with pink puckered bullet holes and a pretty thin knife scar above his left hip. I did the stitches for them myself.

            “So, Lex Luthor has decided to pay Gotham a visit in person.”

            “So it would seem,” I answer lightly, tipping my chin in approval when Bruce tucks in the tales of his shirt within the waistband of his Armani slacks. The belt adds only the slightest bit more polish, but it is enough I’d say his attire isn’t full-out insulting. But I’m no business tycoon.

            “I’m sure Shirley will keep him busy.”

            “I hope, sir. But perhaps you might consider finding a secretary who is more qualified for the position.”

            He flashes me a bright smile, dodging the handful of aspirin I try to offer him and instead takes the espresso I left on his nightstand, “If I hired smart staff instead of the pretty ones, I might ruin my rep.”

            “You also might get more help.”

            “Maybe. I could hire Barbara?”

            “She’d never do it.”

            Bruce laughs and it sounds fairly relaxed considering he is running rather late for a meeting that has upgraded to personal proportions with the other major billionaire in America. “You’re right. She wouldn’t. Though, she does have the brains and the looks.”

            “Master Dick might take offense to that.”

            “Naw, he’d feel flattered I even noticed.”

            I shake my head, amusement marking my expression as I usher him down the stairs and out to the already running sedan. I chose a sleeker Rolls Royce for our outing and I find I can’t help but to admire the midnight blue of the paint in the glint of sunlight.

            “On the double?” I ask out of sheer habit.

            “Of course. Tally-ho Alfred!”

            I try not to smile, but fail entirely when Bruce grins at me in the way that he always has since he was a boy. With a dash of happiness and a pound of mischief.

 

**_Lex_ **

****

            I don’t think I’ve ever felt so damn good sitting in a three-piece suit sweating half to death.

            I smile roguishly at Wayne’s secretary who has been stalling me and my own nerdish cohort for the last thirty minutes and I think my chances of taking Teresa to my hotel are pretty good. Or did she say her name is Sally? I study her ample hips and full mouth again, thinking that Wayne’s discourtesy of tardiness might be forgiven this one time, most especially since the last thirty minutes couldn’t have gone smoother with the brunette super model prancing around with her coffee and mile long legs.

            Shirley.

            Her name is Shirley.

            “Mr. Luthor, glad to see you like to make house calls so early in the week.”

            I am more than a little irritated to find that I jump embarrassingly in my leather conference room seat at the sound of the buttery soft tenor voice rumbling at my back. Bruce Wayne.

            I swivel in the chair, allowing my eyes to detour from Shirley’s to her boss’ and find just the man I was looking to surprise. I suppose his approach is only fair game. Though, in person, I find the supposed billionaire playboy far more than meets the public eye.

            Rather largely muscled for a party boy, he’s dressed in a pair of black Armani slacks and a blue Ralph Lauren button down and he looks nearly relaxed enough to sit down for dinner with the family. Aside from the blatant challenge glowing in his cerulean gaze. I offer him a pert smile, drawing to my considerable height, which unfortunately doesn’t quite reach Wayne’s and offer my hand in showy cordiality. He bites well enough, taking my hand in a solid grip that again, shocks, with its callouses and nearly cruel strength.

            I raise a brow at him, “Little late, Wayne.”

            “I’d say fashionably so, but then again, I like making an entrance. What eats, Luthor? I didn’t expect this shindig in person and here I find you cooling your heels with my lovely Shirley.”

            I spread a hand towards the empty seats, motioning at my silent assistant who came with the proper specs and pray Wayne sees my intent to deal business. Though I’m clearly the major tycoon in the room, most especially in arms, I have a bone to pick with Wayne. As it happens, I need him. At least where the public is concerned.

            “You might have heard some rumors about me.”

            He sits down opposite me, hands folded into a steeple in front of him. Though, he waves a small dismissive gesture at his secretary, I still find my eyes following her rear out the door. Win some. Lose some. “I try not to listen to rumors.”

            I smile, “I imagine not everything you’ve heard about me is good.”

            “Why would that be Mr. Luthor?” though his voice is pleasantly neutral, some might even say hypnotic to listen to, I find there is a slight undercurrent of threat in his tone. Something that both excites me and repels me. Perhaps little boy Wayne is not so little after all…

            “Let’s cut to the chase. We both know I’m no boy scout. But then again, neither are you. However, you are well liked here in Gotham. The people seem to genuinely believe you when you tell them you love their puppies and orphans, whilst smoozing with the latest models and racing your Veyron super cars. You’re liked.”

            “And you aren’t.” Again, that same damnable peaceful tone. Soft and lilting. Nearly accented.

            “No. But you might have also heard I’ve been taking a strong interest in politics as of late.”

            Wayne leans further onto the conference table, his forearms coming to rest in front of him as he peers at my assistant, eyes flickering in cloudless blue, “Who is he?”

            “My assistant?” I blink at him, suddenly caught off guard by the stupidity of his question. But then again, I did forget to introduce him. “He’s Michael Conroy,” I frown at the mousy man beside me, willing him to remain silent, “Conroy, meet Bruce Wayne.”

             Conroy smiles, dips his head and does as I hoped. Keeps his trap shut. Frowning, I force my gaze back to Wayne’s and keep going, desperate to get out what I came to say, regardless of how he seems to be getting under my skin. “As I was saying, I’ve gotten far more interested in politics. And after some careful consideration, I’ve decided to run for president.”

            Wayne’s eyes finally fall away from Conroy, his lips pressing into a firm line as he nods slowly, “You intend to run with what platform? The social eagle? The tea party? Or the conglomerate of independents?”

            I shift in my seat, wondering where he is going with this. From all indications, we should easily be on the same party line. Tea Party. Not that I really need Bruce Wayne. I’ve already paid for my security. That’s what three million dollars will buy you, security. But I want him. I want Bruce Wayne as a backer, because if I’ve learned anything, it’s to play dirty and play hard until the very end. You never know who might pop up, especially if they wear blue and red and call themselves the world’s savior. “You and I both know I’ll be running as the Tea Party candidate.”

            “Ah, yes, I thought you might say that.”

            “Aren’t we both outspoken Tea Party supporters?”

            He nods again, head tipping to the side as he studies me, “We are, Mr. Luthor. Indeed. But that’s about where our similarities end.”

            “I’m sorry?”

            Wayne pushes back from the table, eyes falling to Conroy a moment then flitting to the expanse of gray slated windows that overlook a sprawling city. A city that should be mine, not Wayne’s. “I think somehow you’ve gotten the wrong impression about me Luthor,” turning so only his profile is visible I watch his mouth curve into an obnoxious grin and it causes a seed of bitter acid to poison my mouth. I suppose I should be ready for what comes next, but I’m not. Not really. I genuinely thought I might win him over.

“If you think I would ever support a man who has not only been linked to several open Interpol cases as well as an open hatred for Metropolis’ most beloved hero, you have another coming. Pretty playboy or not, I’m unfortunately, not as stupid as I look and coming out into the open for you is about the last thing my public persona needs. Unless of course, I wish to commit social suicide.”

            He flashes me an award winning smile and I feel a little smidge of jealousy go to roost with the bitter acid. It’s plain why he is so well liked by his female cohorts. Even I might consider playing for the other team for such looks. Bah, I’d never do that. Not even for Wayne. I like women too much. “Then there’s the actual meat of the issue with backing you, Mr. Luthor. I don’t like you.”

            I blink at him, stunned yet again into stupefied silence.

            “I don’t like what you stand for. I don’t like how your company runs or how you treat your employees. In fact,” he stops, eyes going back to Conroy, “Let’s play a little experiment, shall we?”

            “Wayne, I think you’re making a mistake…I came here as a courtesy but I don’t--.”

            “Would you like to come work for Wayne Enterprises, Mr. Conroy? I’ll raise your pay and cover your moving costs.”

            I shake my head, mouth falling open several times like some blasted guppy. I’ve never in my life ever been so flustered with a man.

            “Would you offer insurance?”

            He smiles, “I would. You in?”

            “Done. Thank you Mr. Wayne.”

            “No, thank you Mr. Conroy. Pleasure to have you on board,” Wayne turns to me, eyes mercilessly bright with mischief and I swear I might choke on hatred right then and there. “Point and case Mr. Luthor. I knew from the moment I walked in how much this man hated you and all I had to do was offer him a way out and he took it. Great way to see how a man really is, is how he treats his employees.”

If only he knew how easily I could quash him. If only he knew what I could do to him for this sort of an insult. I hadn’t been sold on testing out my three-million-dollar tech in Gotham…but after this. I wouldn’t do it anywhere else. MMI chips need breaking in. Or so I hear. Most especially in Mayoral elections which seem to be coming up at just the right time.

            I smile tightly, working to keep the venom out of my voice when I do manage to croak out a response to him but it’s feeble at best and I stand with a stiffness only a true ass-handing could offer. “I think that’s my cue to leave.”

            “I’d imagine so. Don’t bother to leave your card with Shirley. She already has your number. Make sure you congratulate her too. It’s her first anniversary. Husband is taking her to Cancun this weekend.”

              I smile again, this time feeling as though my cheeks might break under the pressure and I turn to leave without offering another word. Emptyhanded. No assistant. No billionaire backer. And a whole lot of rage. Touché, Wayne. Touché. I can’t say I’ve ever been spoken to in such a manner before but I find I like a challenge. Of course, I like winning even more. And my victory will taste pretty good with a little bit of blood on the side. I lick my lips as I think about adding on a few other treats just for good measure where Wayne is concerned. Yes, a little blood never hurt anyone. But it does kill.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**_Selina_ **

****

            “Calling all Batmen, calling all Batmen. Get to aisle five for clean up.”

            “Very funny Selina. Little corny for you though.”

            I grin, turning on my kitten heels to find the exact man I’d expected to find tonight. Richard Grayson, the boy wonder turned grown-up Nightwing. Though no stranger to Gotham’s neck of the woods, he usually tends to stay in his own city, Blüdhaven, where he works as a cop by day and a handsome vigilante by night. Or so the little birds tell me.

            “I like to mix it up. How’s the night life treating you?”

            He walks with a slow animalistic gait towards me and even I have to admit, he makes a fabulous picture dressed in his all black Kevlar with electric blue highlights. So much like Batman and yet so very different. Though nearly identical in body type and of course fighting style, Dick has a way of adding humor to his night job that I find electric and of course addicting as I’m prone to do the same. “It’s slow actually. Since Batman doesn’t need my help in Gotham anymore, I’ve been downgraded to Blüdhaven. They don’t get nearly enough robberies or joyrides.”

            “Maybe you should move back. Plenty of crime for the lot of us.”

            “I hear I’m not the only one who has found greener pastures.” I nearly flinch at those particular words. Did Bruce tell him what I said? I think not. A coincidence.

            “As a matter of fact, I did find a new residence. I like to summer in Kansas and winter in Gotham. Pretty cush life actually.”

            He leans out over the building’s edge, eyes only white lenses but I can see his mouth lift in a grin, “Sounds boring. But then again, I’m no cat burglar. Probably for the best you gave it up, right?”

            “Yes, well. Mostly.”

            Dick gives up the pretense entirely now, rising to his full height, I think just an inch less than Bruce, “Mostly? I thought you retired.”

            “I tried to.”

            “Does Bruce know?”

            I feel my mouth open then close again and I shake my head, “I have no idea why I told you, but to be honest, you have no business knowing. It’s my problem. Not yours.”

            “What did you get yourself involved in?”

            I shake my head, walking casually away from Dick to find a sliver of calm again and realize it’s failing entirely. How on earth did this little runt get into my head in so little time? Was I screaming I wish to confess my darkest deeds this evening? “Dick Grayson,” I chide with a soft smile, “Are you flirting with me?”

            He stiffens, lips compressing until they whiten and I know I’ve struck a nerve. Maybe a long time ago my little caped crusader might have thought I was attractive. But the war hardened man in front of me, the one who is in love with Barbara Gordon and has been for nearly ten years, no that man would never do such a thing. But it works how I wanted it to.

            “Fine,” Dick raises both hands in surrender, “I’ll leave you alone.”

            “Good. Never want to drag out those claws. But I do have them.”

            “Don’t we all know it. Bruce better than anyone.”

            Ouch. Again. Full of venom tonight.

            “I’d appreciate if you don’t go spilling stuff to him by the way. Especially since you really wouldn’t know what you are talking about if you do. He and I are over and it’s really none of either of your business what I do or how I get myself into trouble.”

            His lips dip into a frown, anger shriveling my smile in its place, “Unless you’re on the wrong side of the law again…then yeah, it’s my business as well as Bruce’s. He has you helping on this MMI chip but if I think for one second you’re back to old habits, I’ll do exactly what you don’t want me to do.”

            “Go and tattle to Daddy?”

            Dick nods in such a cool manner you’d never know I just tried to insult him. I have to admit the kid has spunk. Even more so now that he’s gotten into his twenties. If I was a decade younger…

            “Daddy is a lot meaner than me. So yeah.”

            I roll my eyes, “Can we get back on track and discuss what I found or not?”

            “Sure.”

            “I found Dent finally. Hiding in the sewers like some creepy Two-Face croc. Though, he looked better the last time I saw him, I’d say he isn’t going to be giving up anytime soon. Gave me a little parting gift to remember him by and I barely got out of there.” I point acerbically to my aching head and the gash that I’ve stopped the bleeding from. I don’t bother to mention my other various bruises. If I did that, I’d have to gesture to my whole body.

            “How long ago?”

            “An hour. He’s probably gone now.”

            “Probably,” Dick gives me a grim smile, one that could only be called proud before he turns to radio into Daddy. It only takes a second to get through. _“Report?”_

“Catwoman says she found Dent in the sewer lines. Got banged up on her way out but managed to escape. It’s been an hour but he’s probably gone.”

            _“Is she hurt badly?”_

I think my heart might skip a beat at his question. Raw and untainted with anger as it should be. “Not too badly. Nothing Alfred can’t patch up.”

            _“Go with her to the cave. I’ll go to the scene and collect any evidence that might be helpful. Which sewer line, North or South?”_

I smile at Dick, shrugging softly, “North. In deep, at least a mile and by the main shut off.”

            _“The control room?”_

I answer for Dick, seeing as how Batman knows I’m standing right here listening in, “Not quite. Though likely where he was hiding.”

            _“Likely. See you both in a couple of hours.”_

***

 

            “He said in a couple of hours?”

            I stir another scoop of sugar into my coffee, watching the cream whirl with the black liquid, warming it to toffee. “That’s what he said.”

            Damien walks the length of the cave, turns at the trophy level and then meanders back to me where I haven’t moved in the last thirty minutes in front of the large tri-set screens Bruce uses for his research. Admittedly, his crib is far better suited and high-tech than mine. But I’m not exactly as endowed as he is since I dropped stealing from my nighttime menu. Well, mostly dropped.

            “If you walk by me one more time, kid…I might scream.”

            “Do it. I bet you sound like a girl.”

            I roll my eyes as Dick kicks out a foot and attempts tripping his younger, far surlier, little Wayne nemesis. Though the two seem to have called it quits on the vast majority of the hate mongering, there are occasional moments it seems they still butt heads. Now, being a prime example. I’d like to blame Dick for being too easy to rile, but that was before I met Damien. A master manipulator and obnoxiously outspoken kid from the Chinese Mongol mountains. No picnic for any adult, let alone Richard Grayson, the first boy wonder beneath Batman’s wings.

            “Could we try and act civil at least for a few moments without Bruce around?”

            Dick offers me an arched brow, his blue eyes achingly similar to Bruce’s and I give an identical look of incredulity to him in response when Alfred’s white halo breaks the fluidity of black by the elevator entrance.

            “Interrupting, am I?”

            Damien snorts, “No. But you could have waited another five minutes and I could have seen if Dick would have really proven himself a man.”

            “Master Damien, might I remind you that taunting and baiting are beneath you?”

            “You might. But I’m not interested in listening.”

            “Aren’t you?”

            Silence blankets over our little grouping and I turn in the swivel seat normally reserved for Bruce to see the owner of a such a seductive voice. The big man himself. He strolls into the cave’s main dome with little more than a flickering glance in my direction before his gaze is boring into his son. A nearly comical replica of his father, save the green eyes and bitter attitude.

            “I…I was getting impatient. I lost my cool.”

            Bruce shakes his head, working the gauntlets off of his arms in tidy pieces as he brushes past Damien, Dick and Alfred, then stops altogether at the armory case. An empty husk of a suit frame awaits its black cloak and I watch in silent fascination as Bruce removes piece by piece of the suit, whilst mumbling angry words at Damien who has followed as a shadow behind him.

            I can’t really hear what’s said and if I’m honest, I don’t need to. It’s more a curiosity than anything, but when Damien stiffens, drawing away from Bruce as though he’s been slapped, I find my eyes jerking to the ground. It feels a bit personal being in the room with a father correcting his son.

            “Selina, good to see you aren’t too damaged.”

            I smile weakly, blinking bleary eyes over Dick and Alfred who remain silent stewards waiting on their master’s report and find I feel much the same way. I’m anxious to hear his report on the sewers. And to know what else he might have gleaned. I’ve gained a little bump to my pride and a big bump to my head. I want a bit of recompense for damages.

            “No, not too damaged. Alfred stitched me up. Only took seven stitches too.”

            Bruce’s lips firm, the crinkles around his eyes furrowing as he studies me and I find myself wishing that the other men weren’t present. I might beg a little shoulder time on the only man I’ve found to do the job right. “I collected several bullet casings and a possibly destroyed drive Dent tried to eliminate. I’m hoping some serious tech scrubbing might give us a lead on who bought the MMI chip from him. I’m nearly positive he sold it.”

            “That would explain why we haven’t seen it in Gotham yet.” Dick pushes off of the computer board he’d been leaning on and stalks over to the first glowing monitor, punching in several numbers to unlock it before clicking into the files already collected on the case. “Someone outside of Gotham ordered it.”

            “Possibly. But until we know for sure, we need to assume this thing is in still here. Just waiting for it’s time to be used.”

            “I beg your pardon sir,” Alfred’s warm and cultured voice seems abnormal in this setting where bat guano and weaponry cling to every rain-slicked surface. “But what exactly do we need to prepare for with the MMI chip? From what I’ve gleaned, you only know the chip is called Mother May I. And that it’s very experimental.”

            Bruce leaves Damien’s side, taking his place beside Dick at the console before clicking open several folders until a data pack spreads across the trifold screens. I think about reading the garble he just opened then find my head hurts too badly to even try.

            “From various sources, we now know the Mother May I chip was commissioned by Dent through an unknown and silent partner. This partner has been bankrolling the operation. Not small time black market, but huge payouts. Three million dollar payouts. I’ve tracked the money to several offshore accounts but the names were all fake and any trace of who really sent the money is gone. Which leads me to believe it’s someone with deep pockets and initiative.”

            Bruce clicks several more screens, bringing up a list of possibles and I think my mind glazes over because I start to lean further into the recesses of the leather chair and all I can think is how good the chair smells. Like mint leaves and leather. Like Bruce.

            “I’m working on a way to narrow the suspects. As for the chip itself. I’ve spent a few nights working our friend Sandman over and have a pretty good idea of what it can do. The Mother May I chip was built to hack its way into any mainframe. Nearly artificial intelligence in nature, it can imbed into the system, learn it, and then takeover systems entirely without ever being detected by the security systems.”

            I blink several times at him. “It sounds terrifying.”

            “It is. It could break into any national security department in the country. Let alone bank systems. It’s why I decided to call Clark.”

            Damien frowns, “Clark? Who’s that?”

            I hear Dick’s laughter first, but by the warning look on Bruce’s face, I can tell Damien isn’t the only one who is on the naughty list, “He’s Superman. And as one of the delegates on the Justice League, he has a say in what matters the League will interfere in. I spoke with him last night, worked over some scenarios and we both decided to keep this as low key as possible. For now.”

            “You mean…Superman will be working with us? _The_ Superman?”

            “Yes,” Bruce smiles, but I can see it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. I suppose he must be as tired as I am. “His name is Clark Kent and he is already here in Gotham. He’ll be staying in the city at his apartment for the next several weeks, or until we catch our guy and the chip.”

            “Sounds like you’ve got things covered,” I push to a wobbly stand and offer my best salute, watching as Bruce straightens and then immediately frowns at me. “I imagine you don’t need me anymore with boy scout on the scene. He hates me anyways.”

            “Selina, you…you should stay a bit longer and rest. I could have a room prepared for you.”

            “Master Bruce is quite right, Ms. Kyle. You took a terrible hit to the head. I imagine you aren’t feeling your best and to go home now when the hour is so very late, it would only make matters worse. I can prepare a room for you on the main floor straight away. A guest bedroom?”

            Bruce nods, his eyes flickering over Damien and then Dick as though he is dismissing them and I watch with no surprise whatsoever as his soldiers disappear the same way that Alfred does. “What just happened? I think I was railroaded but I’m too tired to care.”

            “You were.”

            I smile, dropping neatly back to the chair I dared vacate and I peer up at Bruce who now only wears his thermal undershirt and Kevlar leggings. It looks dreadfully uncomfortable.

            “I feel really quite fine Bruce. I could go home tonight and you wouldn’t need to fuss over me.”

            “Selina…”

            “Truly. I feel great. I’d like to sleep in my own bed and who is going to feed my cats?”

            “Selina…”

            I stop speaking abruptly when Bruce drops to his haunches so our gazes are level and I’m faced with a slightly sweat streaked jaw and brilliant blue eyes. He watches me a moment, his brows drawing low over those heart wrenching eyes, his lips clearly frowning and I find that my heart is barely moving within my chest. My breath feels tight when he watches me like this. Sees me, for me.

            “You’re hurt.”

            “Only a little,” I don’t know why I’m whispering but I can’t seem to help it. Not when Bruce’s hands are now on mine, trapping them on the arms of the chair.

            “Can I see?”

            “What?” I ask stupidly, “My head?”

            “The other ones. The ones you didn’t show him.”

            I swallow stiffly, feeling my face heat as Bruce’s eyes dip to the open neck of my Cat suit and hold as though he can’t help himself before falling to my right leg. My damnable weak knee. The one I blew out three years ago that I just so happened to also strain tonight. Scowling, I wrinkle my nose in irritation when his hand drops to my leather clad thigh and he raises both brows in question. “Can I?”

            “No.”

            “Selina, it’s not like I haven’t seen everything before.”

            I shrug him off, nearly toppling in my efforts to stand, “Yes well, I’m not feeling very strong and you…are looking very much yourself. I can nurse my own wounds. Thanks very much.”

            Halfway up to helping me, his hand drops from my shoulder like a moth sizzling on flames and I see the barely-there moment of hurt flashing in his eyes before steel snatches it away from me. Candy from a baby. “I am well aware we are over Selena. Must we keep going over this?”

            “Yes, it appears we must.”

            Bruce growls low in his throat, something nearly animalistic as he turns away from me, dragging a hand through the dark hair cropped short enough his fingers hardly find purchase, “Why the hell are you here? What is it you really want?”

            “I…” I open my mouth to answer, to really answer him and be as straight forward and honest as I should but my words fall short and I fumble for the next best thing. A truth, but not the right one. “I knew you needed help. I came here to do that.”

            “And to torture me a bit too? Rub in your decision? Make sure I know you’re better off without me?”

            I blink at him, feeling each word as a deserved cut, “No. Just to help.”

            “That’s it?” he turns on me, eating up the distance between us until I am nearly stumbling in my haste to get back. But he doesn’t allow me that luxury. He never has. Bruce has been nothing but persistent, patient, and most admirably passionate in our exchanges and though I recognize the fire in his eyes as anger I can see he wants me as badly as I want him. It’s still there. Burning as bright as a cobalt flame and I wish desperately I could answer him. I wish I could explain what happened six months ago. Explain why I left and for what reasons I had to, but they seem foolish and even a bit too easy now. Was I just running because I knew Bruce and I were serious enough he might want more? He might want a life? A wife even? Or did I really do it out of some sort of sacrificial blessing?

            I jerk when his hands wrap around my biceps, tugging me into his chest and though I don’t make a sound of protest, he can see the warning in my gaze because his lips stop just shy of mine. Instead, they maddeningly dance across them. A butterfly kiss of both breath and skin and I wish for so much more, though I stand stalk still, praying he won’t see straight through me. Or feel my trembling fists on his thighs.

            “That’s it?”

            “Yes.”

            “I don’t believe you.”

            I lift my chin, eyes filling with moisture before I can stop them. Tears must always be linked to bloody emotion, no matter how hard a woman tries to deny them. They always come. “Believe it, Bruce. When I said goodbye those months ago, I meant it. I’m here just to help. Nothing more. And maybe a little bit of checking in…but that’s it. I’ve always cared about you. Regardless of how things ended, but I made the best decision. For us both.”

            His eyes harden to abalone blue, just the brush of his hair touching my forehead as he looks down at my hands which are now pressed against his chest. They could easily be construed either for him or against and I make the final decision easier for us both by giving him a little shove. Bruce’s gaze flits to mine and I see a wealth of emotions that he has shown no other person, save me. Not even the pretty Wonder Woman I would imagine, has seen this side of Bruce. The darker, more primal edge that matches me so well we used to be unable to tell where he started and I began.

            Several more breaths pass before he releases me and I stare in mute abjection when he draws my loose hand to his mouth and brushes a kiss across my knuckles before giving me his back.

            “Bruce, wait.”

            He shakes his head, not bothering to even look over his shoulder at me. This is what I asked for, what I sentenced myself to, did I not? He gave me another chance just now to back out on my decision and I did not. Why?

            Because I love him.

            Because as much as I want him by my side, he will never understand that I can’t simply stop stealing and even if I did, he wouldn’t understand that I’m trapped in a hell of my own making. His life, means the end of mine. I chose that those six months ago, when I stole from the wrong person too many. Rahz al guhl.

            “Please, wait. You must understand.”

            “I must do nothing,” he stops at the cave’s elevator, gesturing lightly for me to follow but I recognize the deadness in his gaze and the briskness of his posture. He’s closed down now. And I don’t blame him. “Alfred will have your room ready by now.”

            “I’m not sure I should stay now Bruce…”

            “Selina, if you ever cared for me at all, you’ll do as I say and simply go upstairs and get in bed. I don’t have the energy to argue with you.”

            I feel my chin rise in prideful indignation, “I’d say you have enough energy for us both.”

            “Do you want me to ask again? Or should I just throw you over my shoulder and carry you, like old times?”

            I almost wish to laugh. Yes, laughing might feel like a wonderful antidote to the seriousness of my relationship with this dark and angry Bruce Wayne. Rather, the lack thereof.

            “Old times…yeah. That would be rich. Then you might wish to use those zip-ties on me too. Make sure to get them too tight like you did on my second arrest and then apologize a few times before I sneak off.”

            I earn a half rise of his mouth, then it fades under a bleak sigh, “Selina, please, just go upstairs and rest. I don’t want to spend my night awake worrying.”

            “I thought you already did that about Gotham.”

            “No. Just you.”

            My stomach becomes lead and falls on my toes. I nod weakly, striding across the floor, stop at the edge of the elevator and then slip inside beside him before I can change my mind. Though I can tell he wishes to say something else, perhaps argue a bit more, we do a pretty damn good job of ignoring each other until the elevator dings on the main level and we stride out into the study. The ornate grandfather clock used to hide the less than average sized sliding doors falls back into place on its gliding hinges when we step further into the room and I wait several seconds before stepping away from Bruce. Something beyond my control keeps me within arms distance of him, my skin prickling for another touch.

            “I hope you sleep well Bruce. I hope you don’t worry about me. I’m fine, you know.”

            Bruce moves away from me, the line of his jaw looking sharp as a razor’s edge in the glow of fire dimly lit in the hearth. “And I hope you know I can never do that. I’ll always worry about you, Selena. I’m starting to realize the more you’re around, there is nothing I can do to purge you. You’ll always be there,” he brushes a hand over his chest as though he’s touching an old battle scar and I ache at the action. “Always right beneath the skin. So don’t ask me to not worry,” his eyes touch on my face and I can feel his sincerity stronger than I ever have, “Because you’ve already asked too much of me, and I won’t give it to you.”

            I try to say something back, to come up with a smart quip or quick words or anything to dissolve the thread of awareness tugging at my middle, demanding I reciprocate his feelings. Demanding I rush across the room and embrace him. Remind him why he worries about me. Why he loved me. But I do nothing. I stand there like the cold-hearted thief I know myself to be and watch as Bruce’s eyes lighten to sky blue and his lips firm into a hard line before he gives me the planes of his back and leaves me in the study. I hardly hear Alfred come in a moment later. Nor do I pay much attention when he’s reminding me where the bathroom is. All I seem to see is Bruce’s face, his eyes and his throat working as though he wishes to wretch at my hideous betrayal right then and there.

            But Bruce can’t know what I did, can he? He can’t know I’m the reason he had Damien. Or that I helped Rahz al guhl use his own daughter to further his assassin’s army out of a wish to survive. He can never know any of it. Nor will he.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**_Richard_ **

****

            “Babs…baby…”

            “Don’t call me baby. You know that won’t work with me.”

            I frown, eyeing my reflection in the hallway as I straighten the black tie that feels more like a hangman’s kiss than a piece of finery. “Well, that’s not exactly true.”

            “Okay, so maybe not completely true. But you and I both know that tonight has been on the books for weeks. You promised me.”

            It has. I know this and yet, I know just as simply that I can’t tell Bruce no. Not tonight, hell ever. I think I can count on one hand my entire growing up having denied my father figure anything. It wasn’t really in me to do the whole suffering teenager act. I liked doing well in school, obeying the rules and getting my pat on the back at the end of the day. Still do.

            “I know I did. But this is something that he needs me for.”

            Barbara’s lips dip into a familiar frown, one laced with disappointment and frustration. But I can also see the tiny glimmer I need to step out the door. The one that remembers well and good how impossible it is to disappoint him. Him being the Batman.

            Most especially as Barbara is still very much a part of Bruce’s life as Oracle. Losing her ability to walk some four years ago, did nothing to slow her in the pursuit of exterminating crime. In fact, it seems to have only increased her fervor to be a part of the solution. It is something I love about her. Always will.

            “Dick, even though I’m going to be good and let you walk out the door tonight, you better remember me later.”

            “How could I not?”

            She smirks, snaking a hand up my freshly pressed tux to tug my lips down to her level. I don’t stop her. I never have. Letting Barbara do whatever she wants has been about as easy as breathing for as long as I can remember. Likely as long as I’ve been in love with her. I never think when I’m kissing Barbara and I can hardly remember to stop her fingers from raking through my softly mussed hair. I’ve half a mind to let her keep unbuttoning my dress shirt too, but I reluctantly pull away and straighten myself as I give her a chiding look. Barbara does as she always does and lifts an arrogant auburn brow at me, eyes narrowing as a pretty cat licking her chops over her supper.

            “Sorry.”

            I chuckle, smoothing a hand over my mouth which feels especially moisturized with Barbara’s chapstick now. “You aren’t sorry. But I like to see you care a little about me showing up to this gala looking disheveled. It’s going to be a madhouse.”

            “Clark going to be there?”

            “Yeah. He’s ‘reporting’ on the fundraiser. It’s one of the biggest in Gotham. You know all of us have to go…you _should_ be going.”

            “I hate dressing up.”

            I frown down at her, moving to the door to gather my dress shoes before I take a seat at the entryway. Bruce will be here in minutes, if not sooner. “You mean as the Commissioner’s daughter.”

            “Yes. You know everyone will ask, stare, look so very sorry for me. I _hate_ scrutiny and whispered apologies. Feels like someone died. And clearly,” she sweeps a hand at her trim waist, flashing me a dazzling smile. Enough so my chest hurts at the action. I love this woman. “I am very much alive.”

            “Yes you are.”

            The bell chimes on our apartment door ring and I stretch to a stand, crossing the calico rug underfoot to get to Barbara. She tips her face up, as though she is soaking up a sunny afternoon and I can’t help but to press my lips hard into hers, taking a lot more than I should before leaving for an entire night. One I promised to be spent in romance and alone time. When the chimes blare again, I rest my forehead on Barbara’s and twine my fingers into the feather soft strands of hair at the nape of her neck.

            “Enjoy a movie. Cozy up on the couch with Louie,” I kiss her nose, drawing back to point at the scraggly house cat we rescued about a year previous. He’s wearing his spiked collar like some feral alley cat and I can hardly contain a grin when he brushes up against the wheels of Barbara’s chair and meows in his deep throated way. He sounds a like a man growling through a kazoo.

            “I’ll do my best. But hurry back, yeah? We might be able to squeeze something in.”

            I smile, raising my brows at her, “Surely we can think of something before succumbing to sleep. That is if you are still awake when I get home?”

            “Wake me up if I’m not. I’ll want you to.”

            I shake my head, “Mrs. Grayson…you are a more treacherous than any villain in Gotham.”

            Babs grins at me, rolling her eyes as she pushes me towards the door, “I won’t be if you keep Bruce waiting any longer. Have a good night!”

            “I’ll try too.”

            I step out into the stale hallway air and close the door softly at my back, regretting my decision to be loyal no matter what almost instantly when I see the shadow cross into my Bab’s eyes. Regardless of how things have changed over the last years, these parties are some of the greatest things she misses. And we both know it. And yet, we don’t talk about it. Probably because we both know it won’t change anything. She doesn’t want to go anymore and I honestly don’t blame her. People do talk and they do stare. No matter how often she explains or tells them she doesn’t wish to talk about it.

            Rolling my neck, I bound down the three flights of stairs separating me from Bruce and the Rolls and find Alfred’s friendly deadpan expression waiting to greet me. He looks as docile as ever, though he wears long tails tonight and his hair looks especially combed and slicked with pomade. I grin at him, clapping him on the shoulder as I open my own door and slide in beside Bruce.

            “Wow, tighter in here than I thought it would be. Hey, runt.”

            Though I address my little ‘step-brother’ with a tinge of sarcasm, it’s nice to see the kid can clean up and sitting beside Bruce, the similarity between them is incredible. Nearly irritating.

            “Hey Dick.”

            I try not to smirk at Bruce when I see his eyes narrow on Damien from the inflection in his voice. “Barbara well?”

            I nod, tipping back in my seat as Alfred clears the engine and traffic begins to blur by the windows. “Very well. She’s enjoying her holiday. But I think about ready to pull her hair out. She needs to be busy.”

            “Yes,” Bruce muses, crystalline eyes flitting to the side door windows, “She’s been missed. Can’t say I’ll ever get used to hearing anyone else in my ear again save Barbara. I’ll be glad to have her back next week.”

            “No sooner then?”

            “No,” Bruce smiles, “And tell her that came straight from me. She needs to learn to take breaks.”

            “Master Bruce, perhaps you should take your own advice then?”

            My lips only twitch at Alfred’s solemn words from the front seat and even Damien seems to have a hard time keeping a straight face when Bruce’s eyes roll as if he in fact is the child. “Yes dear, I’ll be sure to take a break soon.”

            “Yes, we wouldn’t want that blood pressure going up.”

            “And be sure to add another bit of fiber with the bran to my diet.”

            “Already done dear, along with your pill counter and reminders I put everywhere. It’s positively imperative you keep on a rigorous schedule for your health.”

              Bruce turns in his seat, not even breaking stride, “Yes, what would I do without you my sweet.”

            “Die,” Alfred beams, tipping his head as though he’s accepting applause for his little tit for tat with Bruce and I’m not too surprised to find Bruce’s deep chuckle breaking the leather induced stiffness of the car.

            “Will Selinabe there?”

            Bruce’s smile dies a quick death on his mouth and I nearly regret asking. But it’s a valid question and I don’t see the point in denying it’s presence. Things have been growing painfully stiff between them and if I’m not mistaken, there will be a breaking point. At which point, I’m not sure, I only hope it is soon. For all of our sakes. “I don’t know.”

            “Do you hope it?”

            “Is this any of your business?”

            I shrug, “Not really. But I promised to deliver the juicy details to Babs when I got home.”

            “Barbara hates gossip.”

            I feel my smile stretch wide, wide enough to press that tiny dimple into my left cheek, “Not when it’s about you. She loves that sort of gossip.”

            “Dick…”

            I raise my hands in surrender, “I won’t push it.”

            Damien snorts, “And yet you always do.”

            “I don’t need you stepping in Damien. Thanks.”

            Damien’s brows cut little black lines into his forehead as he crosses his arms in a distinctly juvenile move and I am again struck with the paradox of having father and son so close dressed in matching tuxes. It’s like looking into a boom tube for the past. Strange, but fascinating.

            “I hate to break up the party sir, but we are here.”

            Bruce sighs, relief settling the frown lines from his eyes and I watch as a whole new man settles heavily into place atop his shoulders. This man smiles easily, teeth white and straight, with a wicked glint to his eyes and contagious laugh. He buys expensive cars and drinks too much at gala parties for children’s hospitals…even when they are in honor of his father. A yearly, yet trying event for us all. Most especially Bruce.

            “Let’s get this over with boys.”

            I nod, sliding from the Rolls with little more than a dip at the flash of cameras. Though it’s supposed to be a fairly sedate affair as it always is, I cannot help but to feel there will be something far more than that this night.


	9. Chapter 9

**_Selina_ **

****

            There is something to be said for the simplicity and yet, regal austerity of a man wearing black and white. Perhaps, to be more specific, the clean lines of a tuxedo.

            I watch with undeniable interest as the upper crust of Gotham file into the ballroom from the great double doors and do their best to appear casually disinterested. But in truth, there is no hiding the visceral response to the room’s size. Or its beauty. I smile, taking a sip of my expensive champagne, feeling that the very air I’m breathing might be somehow costing me money but find I don’t really care. In fact, I’m rather enjoying this little break tonight.

            When Debussy’s Claire de Lune begins to float in buttery droves from the ballroom floor to my position overlooking the marble stairs, I get my first glimpse of Bruce.

            He walks in an unhurried manner, in the way a man might if he had all the time in the world. In this case, I know better, but I enjoy watching him work the floor as a grand painter does his canvas. Bruce meets several pairs of voluptuous female gazes with the proper amount of interest, mild though it may be, and offers flirtatious grins. Some of which, I’m not even sure my own heart doesn’t flit in response to. When he reaches the center of the room, the place where I can best see him, I wait until his violet washed gaze makes its way to my hiding spot and freezes my glossy heels to the floor. We stare like this for a few seconds, a few breaths of that expensive air, and then I’m walking towards him before I know what I’m doing.

            The pace feels slow and arduous with the several elderly and two younger bachelors stopping my approach, but when I do reach Bruce, I know his gaze has never left me. That singular focus, the sort that could drive a person mad with jealousy is firmly in place tonight and I smile softly when he takes my right hand to press a chaste kiss to my knuckles.

            I think the air between us might warm a few degrees.

            “You’re looking ravishing as ever Selena. I like the color on you.”

            “Oh this?” I question, grasping a handful of the red silk train to sashay, “I just had it lying around in my closet.”

            He smirks, eyes narrowing on me, “I’ll bet you did. Though, I’m surprised you decided to come tonight. I didn’t think you’d be interested in going to this function again after the last time.”

            “You know I enjoy a good party. No matter who’s throwing it.”

            “Yes,” he muses, lips tugging firmly into his party boy grin, “I think I remember that.”

            Somehow reactive and living, I hear the music flush between us and I watch as Bruce’s gaze darkens a few shades to navy as his eyes flit down the length of my dress again, this time in a way that assures me I have caught the attention of the real man behind the mask. _My_ Bruce.

            “Would you like to dance?” His voice sounds so very gentle, I wonder if he intended for me to hear him at all above the quiet din of voices and music, but when the pressure of a very warm hand wraps the expanse of my waist, I don’t hesitate to accept this offer of peace.

            Strange that it should bother me so badly, particularly when it is by my own hand that he and I have not been on good terms these last months, but in this moment, this small wedge of a moment, I think I’d rather pretend it is simply the two of us. And nothing more.

            Bruce effortlessly guides us through the dance floor, avoiding other dancers whilst flowing in a venetian waltz that could put professionals to shame. I don’t think about dancing up to his standards, I simply do it instinctively and only hesitate the briefest of moments when the dance ends and another begins. This one is slower, something distinctly Russian. Tchaikovsky? I’m not really sure. In fact, I’m not really sure of much of anything save Bruce’s hand flexing on my waist, the pads of his fingers gently pressing into the papery quality of my gown until he’s eliminated any space between our torsos.

            “I forgot to tell you that you look very nice this evening too.”

            “Nice?” he murmurs, cheek coming dangerously close to mine so that I can feel his warm breath as tiny branches tugging at the loose curls of my hair on my neck.

            “Yes.”

            “Am I making you nervous Selena?”

            I turn, at once becoming trapped within the steel of Bruce’s gaze which has somehow melted into molten sky blue and my stomach pits uncomfortably. What am I doing? How could I have thrown myself in Bruce’s arms like some lovesick pup in need of coddling?

            I left _him._ I had good reasons for doing so. I have no right to muddle feelings between us on a whim like this.

            “No.”

 

**_Bruce_ **

****

            She’s lying.

            I know this and yet, I can’t make myself stop from toeing the line even further. A line that has somehow not been crossed since I asked for her help with this case. I finger a curl on her neck, letting the hair entrap my knuckle a moment and feel something inside my chest snap wide. Holding her like this, smelling her Dolce perfume and feeling the silk of her dress is like standing before the greatest sun that has ever burned and gleefully being blistered to death. In fact, I can feel my flesh blistering under her touch as I hold her. Feel the very cells of my body beg for her to lean just a bit closer and press her ruby red lips to mine.

            It is by sheer survival that I do not.

            “Are you sure?” I ask dangerously, unwinding the curl, forcing my gaze from the evergreen of hers to Dick and Damien. Both of which are watching us warily near the bar. Somehow it doesn’t manage to have the sobering effect I was hoping for.

            Selina skims her nose along my throat, one hand tightening in the lapels of my coat and I feel every muscle of my body go stiff. “Selina,” I rasp, fully prepared to admit defeat and that I have no control over myself.

            “Don’t move.”

            Trickles of ice filter over the sizzle currently sweltering in my blood and I lean closer to her, ignoring the feel of her hair on my cheek, “Why?”

            “Because someone has decided to drop in for a visit tonight and you might want to prepare yourself.”

            More ice. More control.

            “Who?”

            She dips her chin at me, one hand smoothing over my chest as though she is assuring herself of my skeletal sturdiness. “Luthor.”

            I frown, allowing the breath of a pause in our dance so I might collect my thoughts. But then I am politely finishing the dance with Selena, as any billionaire playboy might before I kiss her hand and leave her standing at the edge of the dance floor in favor of walking to the bar where I can see the shiny head of my most recent headache.

            He doesn’t seem to see me at first, though I’m not sure if that is merely an act and I sidle up to the bar with ease, dropping a twenty for the young barman standing not a foot from us. “Bring me and Mr. Luthor here a scotch.”

            “Mr. Wayne,” he blinks at me, eyes flitting from me, to the empty space where Selina is now missing. “I didn’t think you’d be done with that red number for a bit longer.”

            “Guess I’m not as easily entertained as you thought.”

            “Or maybe you just like keeping tabs on me more?”

            I nod slowly, a smile stretching over my mouth, “That’s certainly a possibility. But to be honest, this is a charity function tonight. As you know, every year we raise money in the name of my father for the children’s hospital. Tonight,” I retrieve the glass of Glennfiddich that the bar tender left in front of me and down the entire bit in one fiery swig, “Tonight is about honoring my father and making money. I don’t do business when I can party.”

            Luthor eyes me a moment, lips tightening as he studies my empty glass and false smile, before he too takes a sip of his scotch with exaggerated slowness. I swear, if it weren’t for the fact that I already know him to be one of the more vile criminals of his kind, I might think him a godfather wannabe. “Good to know.”

            “Enjoy yourself,” I slap him hard on the shoulder, amping up my reputation of drinking too heavily fairly easy as I force a tiny stumble then apologize on my way to Dick and Damien. It’s not my favorite bit of playing Bruce, but its needed and I can see by the look of disgust marking Luthor’s brow, it was successful. He shakes his head, sips again at the scotch then looks about the room in that way that makes my skin crawl and my stomach tighten.

            He’s looking for someone.

            “Bruce!”

            The hand that hits me square in the back is far too rough for any average metropolitan puff, enough so that I jerk upon impact and almost fall face first into a planter. “Clark Kent,” I grunt, turning slowly to offer my hand as I raise a dark brow at the only man I’ve ever really liked enough to call my friend, save family. I don’t consider Alfred, Dick, Damien or any other poor sucker who’s joined my bat team as normal population. They are family.

            “You look sharp Mr. Wayne. Are you hoping to make a new record in donations this year?”

            “Well,” I eye the tall blue eyed boy-scout in front of me and nearly roll my eyes when he shoves up his black framed glasses on his nose, “It is the twentieth anniversary of the foundation. I am fairly ambitious that this year we might break our record.”

            “What was it last year? Ten million?”

            “Fifteen,” Dick interjects, smoothly entering on my right side with a stoic Damien. I nod at the both of them, though it’s hard to tell if they are as bothered by Luthor’s sudden appearance as I am.

            “You should know Clark,” I adjust my cufflinks, eyes darting around the floor for a red dress and green eyes, but come up disappointingly lacking, “You were there.”

            “Yes,” Clark jerks a thumb over his shoulder, “But I couldn’t think of anything better to say under the circumstances.”

            “What circumstances?” Damien asks coldly, face taut with irritation. I pray my expressions don’t look like that when I’m feeling slighted. But I have a sneaking suspicion they do.

            “Lex Luthor is here. I wasn’t expecting him and after our little…discussion in my office, I don’t imagine his presence to be a good thing. Tonight is no longer a break. Keep yourselves on alert.”

            It takes me more than a handful of minutes to make my way back around the dance floor to find Selinabut when I do I swear the temperature of the floor has doubled because sweat is starting to dampen my forehead and chest. Starched tuxedo fabric clings to my skin and I wriggle my shoulders to dispel the sensation of unease.

            “Back for more?”

            “Only if you mean to prevent boredom.”

            “Bruce, you don’t look very bored,” Selina muses, easily tucking back into my side as we break into a waltz again. My feet feel like glass on the marble floor and I smoothly direct our lolling circlets towards the open veranda where the breeze coming off of Gotham Bay is stronger. We dance like this for two more songs, neither one of us in any hurry to end our dance card with another eager participant and I begin to forget the obnoxious presence of Luthor. My shoulders ease under the fingertips that brush my jacket and I lightly skim my nose along Selina’s neck to inhale the scent of her Dolce perfume.

            It’s a bit too much than even I can handle and I break away from her when the shelter of the outdoor balcony greets us.

            “Perhaps I should have left well enough alone.”

            “Bruce, really, if you keep acting like some wounded animal I’m going to be forced to take you home out of pity.”

            “Don’t mock me, Selina,” I feel the words break the seam of my lips in a growl and I give her my back abruptly as I clutch the marble railing. She can’t know how hard this has been and yet, I’m nearly positive all of her posturing is merely trying to hide her own feelings. Feelings which beckon and tempt this night where a starry blanket lulls me into a sense of false safety. Here, beneath God’s dome, I think for a handful of seconds I might really not care if it is only one night again with her.

            A pair of arms winds around my middle as if to tempt me further and I grab the narrowness of her wrist, clasping it to my stomach rather than forcing it away. My eyes flutter closed when I feel Selina’s breath tickle the back of my neck and that vision of starry blankets and one night’s reprieve grows stronger.

            “I’m sorry Bruce. Maybe…maybe we could…”

            “Don’t.” I do sound like a wounded animal. But I can’t help if that’s the way I feel. I’ve never been any good at falsifying true emotions, regardless of my flamboyant public persona. I love her. Really love her and this aggravating woman is holding me as though none of the last six months matter, though, they clearly should.

            “It wouldn’t have to mean anything,” she whispers, voice sounding choked.

            “It would mean everything to me and you know it.”

            When I say nothing more but make absolutely no move to remove her from my torso I feel Selinarelease me enough to sneak between me and the railing, pressing her front fully flush with mine. I feel lightheaded at the contact and I blink down at her, flinching when she reaches a hand to my cheek.

            “One night Bruce…one night to pretend couldn’t be that bad.”

            “Couldn’t it?” I ask angrily, wrapping my arms around her middle, jerking her harder against me. She makes a sound of protest, flattens her palms on my chest about a second before my mouth captures hers but I feel all resistance fall entirely when my hand winds into her hair. I kiss her punishingly, anger biting at every inch of her mouth and when she answers me with the same brutish force, tugging on my hair hard, I lose the tiny strand of control I had left. It snaps entirely. Suddenly, it is only she and I and that flimsy excuse for a dress on her body. Suddenly, I really do want one more night. A night where I might punish her in the way she has me. But I won’t do it by way of pain. I’ll make her remember everything she lost and left with the best I can give.

            I don’t really think about what I do next. Mostly because it’s fairly instinctual. I grasp her hand, dragging her behind me as she follows with pupils as dark wide discs surrounded in evergreen and we make our way into the gardens. I’ve never been too keen on public exposure during intimacy but I find I don’t particularly care. Not with Selinalooking at me like that, with her nails digging into my hand as she struggles to keep up.

            When the hazy glow of lights falls away and it is just she and I behind a thick growth of saplings and freshly pruned jasmine bushes I jerk her back into me. Taking without permission until she and I are both struggling for breath.

            “Are you sure?” she pants.

            I shake my head. “No. But I don’t care. Not tonight.”

            But this time, when my mouth closes over hers and her lips become liquid honey against me, I feel a sting that is far too familiar at the back of my neck. I jerk, stiffening out of the intimacy of the embrace to stumble backwards and then fall into the nearby jasmine. Branches snag my tuxedo, tear at my right cheek and I fall squarely on a lumpy root at the center of my back.

            “Bruce? Bruce?” I can hear the fear in Selena’s voice, the true concern rushing in her veins but I can’t do anything save lie there in the bush as an invalid. I can already feel the stinging bite of whatever was shot into my neck taking effect. That familiar stinging sensation was a tranquilizer dart. Something fairly potent because I can’t even move my lips to speak and my vision is already dwindling into shadows and musty sound.

            “Bruce?”

            I blink up at her image, see it sway, duplicate then sway again. Then I’m unconscious. My last thought is one that is as dark as the onyx prison I enter. At least I was saved from doing something likely to be one of my greatest mistakes. Sleeping with Selina would have cost me far more than it was worth. No matter what I thought at the time.


	10. Chapter 10

**_Bruce_ **

****

            My eyelids scrape over my corneas roughly, so roughly that all I see for my first conscious seconds is a blurry glaze of tears. Allowing the needed seconds for my vision to clear, my faculties return to me in painstaking slowness and I take silent inventory as per my trained custom.

            Little has been done to my overall frame. In fact, aside from the slight sting of a thorn bush on my cheek and the uncomfortable tightness of ropes binding both ankles and wrists, I am unharmed. Not to say that will last long. One does not kidnap without serious intent involved. Or so experience has taught me. But I’m not Batman here and now. Nor does my captor or captors know anything about the alter ego that consumes me much of the night. I am Bruce Thomas Wayne.

            I am Bruce.

            Blinking several more times, the room comes into focus and I see the summery glow of a setting sun first. Dust moats cling to the vision of golden rays that spill from the thickly plated glass windows on the far reach of the room and I stare transfixed by their steady plummet to the marbled floor. Italian. Expensive.

            Wealth seems to permeate the air as well as the obviously thickly encrusted ceiling. Far too gaudy even for that of my mother, no matter that she enjoyed the cultured French look of a Marie Antoinette theme.

            I lick my lips, tasting the copper of blood and sweat as I continue studying my far from orthodox holding cell and realize to my great astonishment, that not only are my ankles shackled to the chair upon which I sit, but my pants have been taken. In truth, my entire debonair tuxedo is missing and all I am left with is a pair of solid gray briefs and a white undershirt. That and my Ralph Lauren socks. Which I purposefully wore as an old school boy habit for luck. Now, the yellow pinstripes don’t feel particularly lucky with them brandishing thick ropes for necklaces.

            I hear the sound of a far off door click, the latches taking their time as though someone is unlocking several dead bolts and I brace for the intruder with every ounce of stupefied playboy I can manage, but I only just pull off the look when a man twice my size comes in trailing a much thinner reedier looking fellow. Both are impeccably dressed and again, I smell the wealth like an acrid poison to the nose wafting in the air. Never have I resented my money more than in the presence of other well-endowed citizens.

            “Having a nice morning?”

            No accent. “Not particularly. But don’t worry, you’ll be hearing from my lawyer as soon as you untie me.”

            The big one laughs, slowly rolling his neck as he begins unbuttoning his blue blazer and I watch the movement with expected unease, eyeing the two gentleman as my mind whirs on escape routes. If my hands or even ankles become freed, there is little doubt as to my escape. But if they merely intend to punish me physically, I might be in for a beating. I lift my chin, watching the big one until he’s taken off his jacket and has rolled both of his sleeves up. I assume such actions are meant to motivate me into either talking or giving up a savory ransom. Neither of which I’m settled on doing as of yet.

            Though I imagine Alfred is beside himself…

            And Selina. Dear sweet Lord, Selina. I’d seen her hours ago now. Nearly a whole day has spanned since the garden and my capture. My thoughts collide like stalled out rail cars when the skinny man drops to his haunches between my knees and starts snapping his fingers an inch from my nose.

            “Are you in there yet pretty boy?”

            I glare at him, lifting my chin.

            “There you are. Look, we have a job to do and as long as you make this nice and easy, we won’t need to do much but hurt your face a bit. Scuff a good for the boss.”

            I feel my jaw clench and I have a brief flash of Selina’s face being scuffed. Her wrists bound. Ankles. My stomach cramps to the point I feel physically ill and I swallow to keep it at bay. There is no need to falsify my fear, because I feel as potent as the smell of cigarettes looming on the skinny guy’s breath. Only, I’m not afraid for myself and if I thought for one moment Selina was safe and sound somewhere far from here, I’d be closing this little gap between us with a sharp jab of my skull against his nose.

            “A scuff? Why?” I act shocked, and again, the fear roils as a constant companion to my charade.

            “You pissed off the wrong guy. He wants to make a point.”

            Luthor. I pissed off Luthor. The only man with enough money to stink of it, is the man who I refused to back as a presidential candidate. I fight the urge to curse and instead lick my lips again, struggling to pull off afraid now that anger has joined the play and it hums methodically through my systems. The door doesn’t feel so far away. Neither does this guy’s knife I see sticking out of his belt. Or his gun. But I won’t touch that. Not even if my life depended upon it. But Selena’s?

            “You guys are making a big mistake. I could sue you for every penny you own.”

            “We work for someone who pays good.”

            “How good?” I ask, voice rising.

            “More than you’re willing to put out pretty boy.”

            The big one leans forward, blows coffee saturated breath down my neck and gives me a paternal squeeze to the back of the neck that makes my skin crawl. “I like you. But I haven’t taken a pound of flesh in a while and I’ve got the itch,” he hesitates, squeezing until I suck in a breath of air, “Real bad.”

            Not so educated as the first. Apparently the cliché of brawns but not brains holds fast and steady with this pair.

            The first hit, is a bit harder than I expect and I cough when it lands squarely into the soft part where stomach meets chest cavity. More like the diaphragm.

            “Jeez. You trying to…kill me?” I wheeze, half meaning it.

            “Baby. See, I told you I’d make him scream.”

            The skinny one smiles, plucks a pack of Marlboro from his pocket and lights up a cigarette. The glow of the butt matches the sunlight streaming through the room and I watch it a moment, attempting to modulate the pain I know I’m about to receive. I test my hands and feet a second time, just to be sure and maybe half a second before another hit lands so hard on my cheek that my head snaps back and darkness swims in my vision for several seconds.

            “Not so hard Salento. He might go dark before we get the damage in. It would feel wrong hitting an unconscious man.”

            “Sure, sure. I know what I’m doing. Like I said, I’ll make him scream.”

            There is a brief moment where I simply stare at the two of them, mismatched and comically speaking of me as though I’m not in the room at all but then Salento finds his mark again and this time splits my lips hard on my front teeth. Blood spills hot and sour in my mouth and down my chin.

            Salento might be right. He might be the first to make me scream.

 

 

**_Selina_ **

****

            “Nothing? What good is a detective when he clearly can’t do his job?”

            “Selina…I—”

            “Don’t,” I shrug Dick’s hand off of my shoulder, jerking back until the smell of damp cave wall and bat guano makes me want to puke and I hit solid wall. “You said you could find him and yet, here we are over forty-eight hours later and nothing. You haven’t found anything. How does a man go missing when he owns half the U.S.?”

            “No one knows he is missing for one and two,” he glares at me, pointing an angry finger at the largest monitor where a blipping file is showing, “I did find something. It’s just not as much as I hoped for.”

            “Yeah sure, you know Lex Luthor paid someone to take him. You have motive but you have squat on location, which at present, is most important.”

            “Ms. Kyle…perhaps you’d like a drink?”

            I turn to stare at Alfred, my eyes suddenly burning as he approaches with a Shirley Temple in hand, complete with a double dosing of my favorite maraschino cherries on top. “Yes thank you. If only these babies could solve world hunger too.”

            “It wouldn’t surprise me,” he answers mildly, allowing me a half-cocked smile that draws his mustache up on one side.

            Dick however, is still glaring at me, eyes like liquid cobalt set in a face nearly as handsome as his father’s. But Bruce, my Bruce has been missing for nearly two days and the last I saw him we were about to make love in the gardens of the Camden Museum. I stiffen at the memory of his lips on mine, so harsh and demanding, speaking eloquently of what he’s felt these last months in a way that my ears had rung from so many unspoken words. But it had felt as though he’d been screaming them at me. Beating me with not only his kisses but his desperate hands, the hands that had nearly torn hair from my scalp they’d pulled so hard.

            Two days later I still feel bruised and horrifically scared.

            Because I love him still. And it’s as clear as day that he loves me. Wants me as much as I’ve wanted him and then some and the very thought of him suffering when I sat around on my hands drives me mad. I’ve never been good at waiting. In fact, if weren’t already obvious to everyone around me, I’m downright insatiable, impatient and stubborn. I want what I want, fairly fast and with perfect precision, if you please.

            I still don’t remember much of what happened aside from Bruce’s face when he hit the soil and then the precarious little sting in the back of my own neck. I’d fallen sideways, rather than on top of Bruce and I’d had not even the slightest glimpse of the responsible party.

            “Selina, we’ll find him. I’ve got Clark combing through the city and Damien is doing the same. There isn’t much more we can do right now.”

            “You could call the League.”

            Dick’s brows shoot to his hairline and he shakes his head, “Selina, no. Bruce would hate that. He’s probably ticked at the situation enough without adding to it. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he drags his beat ass home by himself. He’s dug out of worse things.”

            “How do you know?” I ask, sounding horribly desperate, “How do you know he’s even alive?”

            Something murderous glints darkly in Dick’s gaze and I watch for a moment as he collects himself before speaking. “If such a thing were to happen, I’d know.”

            “What do you have ESP or something?” I ask angrily, feeling my hands clench into fists. I might be tempted to hit a pretty jaw tonight. Who am I kidding, I’m near salivating at the prospect of making something bleed. I’m angry. Fuming. With myself. With Bruce. With Lex Luthor.

            “I happen to have excellent intuition, something that gives me an edge at both my jobs, Selena. That intuition says Bruce is alive. Maybe not well, but alive. And I intend to remain calm, while I continue sorting through the possible locations he’s being held. If that’s fine with you?”

            I grind my teeth, jarring my heart into submission with the sound of bone grinding on bone as I turn on my heel. “I’m going to smoke a cigarette.”

            “You don’t smoke.”

            “I’m going to start,” I growl, marching past him to where the misty air of the falls breaks the sound of squeaky bats and the night air swarms between thickly laden willows. I don’t stop until I’m outside of the caves and into the adjoining fields that border the old Wayne manor. Bruce’s home feels too much like the man himself and I stride deep into the sway of yellowed grass as stars dome overhead.

            “Getting some air?”

            I jump at the sound of the deep voice at my back as my breath rushes out in a decidedly female manner. “What the hell, Clark?!”

            I spin around abruptly, clutching my hand over my throbbing pulse as I eye my intruder and see he’s dressed in his hero getup, including the superfluous red cape that flutters lightly over his broad shoulders. Kansas appears to grow them big and as handsome as their corn fields.

            “Needed some air?” he repeats, voice devoid of emotion.

            “No. I just like coming out here to stare into the vacant space and contemplate my existence.”

            Not missing a beat, he tips his head to the heavens and smiles languidly, “The stars are a great place to start. I often think of my origin doing exactly as you, but hey, let’s cut the bull and talk candidly, shall we?”

            I blink at him.

            This is apparently an affirmative because he moves to stand beside me and my skin flushes with goosebumps when I can feel the heat rippling off of him. Though he looks as human and wholesome as any other farm boy, one only needs to stand beside him to feel the raw power which flows through his veins and know, nothing about that is human. Even his eyes seem to flow with it and I struggle to remain comfortable standing so close to him.

            “Dick says you’re giving him a hard time.”

            “What are you, my dad?”

            “No, Alan Kyle is. But that’s beside the point. The point is, I know you very well Selina and there is a lot about you, that I haven’t told Bruce because it seemed like you two were going to call it quits and move on.”

            When I say nothing, merely stare blandly at the soil underfoot, he sighs, looking outward to the spray of city lights in the distance that burn off the stars, “Then it’s not true?”

            “I don’t know what we’re doing anymore. But I do know it’s none of your business.”

            “Bruce is my business Selina and his love of you has made him make poor choices no matter that they go against his morality and have cost him dearly through the years. And through it all, I’ve stood aside, never speaking up. Never cautioning him, because I had hoped you two would finally come to some sort of understanding.”

            “Are we really doing this right now Clark? A heart to heart?”

            Suddenly, I’m not standing beside him, he’s standing in front of me, towering over me, washing me in waves of citrus and heat. A little tremble races down my spine when he peers down at me for a moment and his eyes tighten, brows knitting together, “Why are you here worrying over him now when you spent six months ignoring him? Why did you come back when you broke things off for good the last time?”

            “I…”

            “Don’t lie to me Selina,” his frown deepens, “I can hear your heart.”

            “Well don’t stand so close to me.”

            “I scare you.”

            I roll my eyes, folding both arms over my chest, “Don’t get that a lot? Well, I don’t really care. You and your alien ass can stay a good few feet from me and speak like a gentleman. I’m in no mood to be hassled like I committed a crime.”

            “Didn’t you?”

            I stare at him, stomach suddenly dropping again until I feel lightheaded and I realize I stopped breathing. “What are you talking about?”

            “Rahz al Guhl.”

            “What?” my voice has gone dry as a brittle twig amidst a forest fire and I gape softly at the man I’d thought so gentle in Bruce’s many descriptions. Now I see they are like two sides of the same coin. More alike than different.

            “Selina!”

            I keep staring at Clark, my heart thundering in my ears even though Dick is running over to our patch of grass.

            “Yes, I heard you talking with Alfred,” Clark looks away from me and smiles grimly, “You found him.”


	11. Chapter 11

**_Superman_ **

****

            This isn’t the first time I have been on some sort of mission to retrieve the irretrievable and bring back a win for the good guys in Gotham. In many ways, I’m the catch all, when things go south and Batman needs someone with a bit more than he can offer in that utility belt. And generally, I find such collaborations not only useful for widening my repertoire in the field of crime fighting, but instructive. Because I’m usually standing beside a black veiled wraith who is more likely to break bones, than he is to offer mercy. It’s always a learning experience. Something that brings the blood humming to the surface and a reckless smile to my mouth that I am most certain Lois would deem inappropriate.

            But tonight, there is no dark companion to snap out the orders or grunt in assent at me. There is only wind whistling amidst predictable drizzling rain. The smell of washed out gutters and murky alley raff wafting up to me as I skate the tops of buildings.

            Tonight, I travel alone.

            Tonight, as surreal as it feels, I am traipsing in the devil’s playground in search of the devil himself. Batman. And however dark, twisted or sour the man grows in the years, he’s still my friend. A person who knows me better than any. Even dare I say, Lois.

            I tap the borrowed comm-link in my ear, surfacing over the hum of the radio frequencies to the top of my consciousness so I might hear Oracle above the city.

            “ETA four minutes. Anything you can tell me Oracle?”

            _“Unfortunately, no. We traced the signal to Batman’s imbedded tracker sometime after 1 AM when it was alerted. And as you likely already know, that signal can only mean one thing.”_

I resist the urge to swipe at the grit from my eyes and keep them trained on the Gotham harbor police boat, skimming the waters. Almost as if they are in search of the same thing I am, though I know that to be impossible. In all likelihood, they are in hunt of that teenager’s body they suspect will wash up on the northern hook of the harbor from the Metropolis police scanner I tap into. Politician’s kid. Always a big hype over their missing young. Anyone else’s kid wouldn’t be getting the midnight treatment.

            “He’s hurt. But we already suspected that.”

            Oracle waits a beat to respond and I hear her resignation as clearly as my own. We both don’t know what we’ll find, but I for one, have no intention of allowing wild imaginings to rule my thoughts. I haven’t the capacity to allow such. _“Yes, we did. Nightwing and Robin should be meeting you there. Catwoman as well.”_

I don’t bother affirming it. I can already see my target, hearing the whistle of wind in the sailboats near the docks and smelling the brine of a day’s fishing. I press my speed, engage my exothermic vision and watch as the local businesses along the docks become a string of multicolored horror shows. Reds, oranges, deep violets and blues rush into focus and on instinct I toss aside the images of least value to me. The darker the color, the less important for recent life. Red, orange or even yellow, could mean a recent warm body in the vicinity and I zero in these particular color traces to find my prey.

            Third building on the wharf side, I see what I’m looking for. Three heat signatures. Two red, one yellow. I don’t bother to wait, nor do I think it prudent to alert the others of my find. I can handle the men alone and do it quickly.

            Landing in a puddle of lukewarm rainwater, I do swipe at my eyes to remove the rainwater before accessing my x-ray vision. A rather enlightening process as the room within Bart’s Bait Shop comes to life in black and white gradients. As I suspected, two perps and what appears to be a victim tied to a chair. Bruce. Batman.

            My stomach gives an untidy lurch at the unfamiliarity of the sight and I do as I might with any other criminally involved scene. I block emotion. I block anything in the way of my senses, save the threats. Of which I will seek to neutralize as safely and as humanely as possible.

            Surging forward, I break through four inches of timber and sheet rock, exploding into the main room with a cloud of white powder. Disoriented, the men are of little consequence to me and I have the first in cuffs, hog tied on the floor in a matter of seconds. The remaining problem seeks a more violent end it seems, because he’s stationed himself at Bruce’s back, a jagged blood covered knife poised on the sluggish artery of his neck. The room stills in a baited breath as my vision locks down to one thing. The knife on Bruce’s throat.

            His pulse. Which still brings life and the vapid look of dark pupils staring glossily at me out of a ghostly white face. My friend has seen better days, most assuredly.

            I smile weakly, dust the white residue from the sheet rock from my shoulders and offer both hands at my sides, feeling my cape brush my knuckles.

            “I’ve come for the man under your knife. I don’t necessarily need you alive to achieve my purpose.”

            “You wouldn’t kill me,” the man’s hands tighten, tremble, sweat, “You’re Superman, you don’t kill.”

            I lift a brow, seeing Bruce’s gaze grow sharper as though he is only just now aware of my presence and he struggles a moment as the blade digs delicately into the skin of his neck and the perp’s knuckles tighten on a handful of hair to force his chin up.

            “I’m Superman. I don’t follow human law.”

            “But…” the man looks between me and the one on the ground, unconscious, “But you won’t hurt me.”

            “I’m not certain of what I’ll do, seeing as how you’re making my friend bleed.”

            As I angle my head, study the measurements from knife to neck, arm to shoulder, I am vastly tempted to simply use my heat vision to sever the man’s arm from his torso. Instead, I calculate the risk and needed force to be a stunning second degree burn. It should do the trick.

            I can hear the sound of a motor bike, the Batmobile, and some other vehicle on approach and my impatience grows. “Easy or the hard way?”

            “You, you came in here. You made it the hard way. I’m just doin’ a job!”

            The knife nicks deeper, blood dribbles uselessly down Bruce’s already soiled tuxedo shirt. “Enough,” I warn, my voice taking on the edge I reserve for specifically irksome assailants. I am wholly aware of my ethereal qualities, though I prefer to keep them under wraps in favor of blending with the humans. Promoting myself as friendly and welcoming. And make no mistake, I am such things. But I am no human.

            “You release the man now. Or I _will_ harm you a great deal worse than I originally planned.”

            His chin wobbles, fingers tightening and I feel, as I often do, time slow to the milliseconds whilst I act. Heat builds in the back of my eyes as my vision sharpens to the accuracy of a needle point. I don’t wait this time, nor do I give another damn warning. I’m through with this charade and I release the proper amount of heat from my gaze to scorch the fleshy meat of his offending shoulder to an instant blister. He makes a satisfactory squeak, backing away as though I have burnt the arm off and I surge forward, clamping both my hands on his arms to bind him to the metal pillar nearest us. By the time I am have him bound, making insufferable sniffling sobs of pain, Catwoman enters the room like a tightly leashed demon, claws drawn and a back arched.

            “He’ll be fine.”

            She spares me a look, dark and a foreboding but I can see as she rushes to Bruce’s side, she won’t believe it until her own thorough inspection is complete. He’s looked worse, but not by much.

            “He needs a doctor.”

            Nightwing enters beside Robin and scans the men, “I’ve called Gordon. Should be on route for a prisoner pickup.”

            “Good.”

            I remove the comm-link, watching Selina remove Bruce’s bindings, hearing the whispers she has forgotten I can hear and I feel my chest tighten in worry for my friend. It’s clear, very much so, that she loves him. Her hands shake, tears glisten like tiny stars in her emerald eyes, but she doesn’t say that. No, she says something else that makes my hands tighten into fists.

            She says sorry. Over and over. But he’s already passed out again. His body is slack and though I can hear his pulse over the hum of conversation, it’s clear he needs a doctor, badly.

            “I’ll take him,” I offer, smoothly, “The watchtower will have the proper medicine and doctors he’ll need. And some space…for healing. Perspective.”

            Selina’s eyes connect with mine, hold precariously and then fall to the floor. My meaning is clear enough. I know far too much about the woman who loves Bruce, more than I ought to, and what I do know, makes me suspect it is only the top of the iceberg. Bruce isn’t the only one capable of detecting. I’ll be killing two birds with one stone by keeping Bruce in the watchtower.

            “Yes,” Nightwing agrees, face not registering the obvious tension in the room as I cross the length of the room to retrieve Bruce. I’ve a stop to make first. I need to borrow someone’s jet.

 

 

**_Bruce_ **

****

            I wake to the feeling of soft velvet stroking my scalp and forehead, brushing through my hair in heavenly strokes. I rouse like a man wading through thick Caro syrup, mind sluggish and drugged, and only vaguely aware of the dull throb of pain from crown to toes. Regardless, I can feel my eyes open into slits and I catch my first glimpse of my surroundings in brilliant burning white light.

            “Shhh, Bruce. Do it slowly.”

            I blink rapidly, my eyes watering until I can only make out the fuzzy image of black hair and a white face hovering beside me. But I know the voice. I could hear it in a blizzard, across a sizzling blacktop drenched in hellfire, or amidst an intergalactic war. Diana Prince.

            “You’ve been down and out for three days Bruce.”

            I work to clear her image and after several seconds, manage to see the vivid blue and golden star around her pupils in focus. She’s leaning over my bed, one arm propped on the pillows I’m disappearing into with the other still doing those soothing circles on my scalp. I open my mouth to speak and find that dust would have an easier time exiting a rainstorm.

            “Here,” Diana smiles, the familiar crinkled one, then reaches for an obnoxiously orange mug with a straw to put at my lips. I take several greedy swallows, savoring the taste of undiluted water, tainted with nothing but a plastic aroma, then I sink into the bed.

            “How bad am I?”

            She quirks a brow, runs a French tipped nail down my cheek and sighs pointedly, “I’m afraid you’re pretty bad. Broken leg. Fractured ribs. The usual with a twist of internal bleeding in the liver.”

            I blink at her, “You’re kidding.”

            “Wish I was,” she smiles, pressing a light kiss to my temple that somehow warms me more than the feeling of waking up to her at my side. I watch her carefully a moment, aware that the cabin lights in the med-bay look as sickly as they did the last time I frequented them on the watchtower. And like every time, I wish I was home. In my own bed.

            I frown now, seeing the blip of my heart putter across the monitor in tandem with a respiration rate and oxygen saturation. “Did Clark put you up to this?”

            Diana gives me a sharp look, patting my shoulder as she takes a seat in a chair that’s been pulled up close to the bed. I regret her hand leaving my head. It had been a welcome distraction to the pain I feel eking further and further into awareness in my limbs. “Of course not. He only told me that you were here.”

            “Of course he did,” I muse, wondering where my fellow alien has scampered off to.

            “Am I not good company?” Diana muses darkly, her unpainted lips looking like the color of rose with her deeply tanned skin. She looks as though the Caribbean treated her well. Needless to say, I’m undoubtedly jealous. I could use a vacation about now.

            “That’s not it in the least Diana. But I need to speak with Clark. I’m working a case--.”

            “When aren’t you?” she interrupts, looking pleasant and patient.

            “Diana…”

            “Yes?” she asks, smile broadening as she leans close enough I can smell the spearmint on her breath. Not for the first time, my awareness of her as an attractive woman trips into focus and I hear the monitor kick a few healthy notches in reply. Though I can’t say I’ve always felt the magnetic pull of the Amazon, it would be pretty damned impossible to lie and say I don’t feel anything after years of working together. I’m a man. She’s…Diana. Sue me.

            “Just go get Clark.”

            “Ah, you’re starting to sound more and more like yourself.”

            “And you’re starting to piss me off.”

            “No I’m not,” Diana laughs, running a hand carelessly back through my hair and much to my shame, I sigh into it, letting my eyes shutter closed as the dull throb of pain in my temples eases under her nails. “Does that feel better?”

            I hum in response. I’m too far gone. Exhaustion blurs out the edges, makes me heady with fatigue and carelessness and I slant a look of irritation at Diana as she lulls me closer to sleep.

            “Bring Clark.”

            “After you rest more.”

            “Diana…” my voice sounds like a whine. Her nails track light as feather on my forehead, down the bridge of my nose, over the crest of my lips and I’m falling silent again, closing my eyes. Falling asleep.

            “I’ll wake you in an hour.”

            “With Clark,” I mumble, not really regretting that she’s already dimming the lights overhead and washing the room in healthy black tones. Sleep is too hard to deny now. I think I feel another heated kiss at my temple, the brush of lips on my ear as she whispers something in Greek, but then I’m giving in and darkness swallows me whole.


End file.
